The Dawn of Summer
by spicygenou
Summary: Ivan, next in line to be Emperor, leads a charmed life, never questioning the validity of his family's authority or the necessity of slaves. When he meets and is enchanted by a unique man, a slave from a savage land, he begins to doubt the empire's core principles. But closing the door on Winter is no simple task, even with his Summer guiding his hand.
1. Chapter 1

In the Empire of Russ, all was peaceful. Emperor Peter, known as General Winter by his many enemies and loyal allies, conqueror of Germania and Rome and now peacekeeper between the east and the west, ruled with an iron fist, maintaining order and justice. The seat of his empire was the kingdom of Muscovy, where he resided with his three children. The locals were well-fed, pampered, and free from war after centuries of civil unrest and violent skirmishes.

Yes, life was good if you were Russian. Even the Germans, long since conquered and integrated, were no longer killed in the streets for their blonde hair and blue eyes. And of course, the Asians were well taken care of, as it was only with their aid that Winter's grandfather took the throne, uniting the warring Slavic tribes. There was no need to complain, nor was there an option to. It was understood that dissenters were quick to be killed. If Winter was merciful, prison and fighting were the punishment, though fighters usually only lasted a few months before a younger criminal ended their career in the Pits.

The only people who had a thing to complain about were the slaves, but of course they had no right to protest, and so they were hastily punished before getting back to work, as it should be. It was universally known that Russians and Asians were the superior races—how else could they have lasted so long and created such a beautiful society? Sure, it was the slaves that did all the hard work building the expansive palaces and imposing spires, but the true visionaries were the Russian monarchs and advising nobles. On their own, those savage creatures could never hope to survive, even if they knew how to cook and clean and farm and hunt and…

Useless, it all was. They didn't know of the intricacies of the world, of art and politics, of war and love. Their minds couldn't handle it, everyone knew that. If they were equal to the Russians, then why were they slaves? It was only logical that they stay on their knees. They weren't even smart enough to revolt, that's how pitiful they were.

In the Emperor's palace, only the most exotic and experienced of slaves were used. For this, King Wang Yao and his family were entrusted with training the lowly western Europeans. His own younger brother, the Duke Kiku Honda, frequently made trips westward into the barren wastelands that were previously the thriving Roman Empire, Britannia, and Gaul. Beasts, the lot of them. After years of warring, they ended up so fractured, so easy to conquer. Those who remained tried to avoid the Hunters, as Kiku's band was often called, while scrounging what little they could from the scorched earth.

A rather recent discovery by the young Duke was a network of islands far to the west, even past the island nation housing the repugnant Britons.

The Americas. A horrible brutish people thrived there, speaking their botched English like the Brits but also French and Spanish and German. A detestable hodge-podge of cultures had created a society lacking in refinement or consistent character. The Emperor discovered from records in a number of sacked palaces that the Americas had been colonized long ago, but even the westerners looked down on the island peoples, claiming them too bold and brash.

So it was no surprise when that first round of slaves was gathered and distributed around Muscovy. No matter how wild their spirits were at their initiation, the whip was quick to subdue them. They proved just as docile as even the simple Romans, even if they were stronger and had a darker, uglier coloring of skin.

The second slave shipment was smaller than the first, as the colonies had united to fight the Duke's men. They fell, of course, which annoyed the Emperor as it meant less workers for his land.

On the third trip, the Duke ensured greater numbers, and he delivered. All that remained in his wake was a horribly deformed coast line and dying Americans. They'd never be strong enough to fight back again.

The American slaves provided reprieve for the previously overworked westerners, as they took the brunt of the beatings. They were so different, so crude: they could barely speak Russian to save their lives, and they truly were so loud. Even when they worked the fields, they kept up ridiculous songs in their native tongues, smiling and laughing and forming families as if they were real people.

Despicable, to say the least.

Fearing a revolt from the soulful race, Winter ordered more severe punishments, including impromptu visits to the Pit, starvation, public beatings, and destruction of any family units. Babies were murdered in the night, women raped. Other slaves had a few protections, among them protection of women from sexual crimes—it wouldn't due to mix the races and accidentally produce a creature with the brawn of a slave and the brain of a Russian, would it? All but the Americans. If one was lost, so be it.

The only way a slave could have some safety was in joining Yao's elite training program. The first American was allowed in almost as a joke, but he proved his worth. He was a recruit, fresh from his homeland and only six years old. When he was cleared for service to a minor noble's castle on the edge of Muscovy, he paved the way for other Americans to earn some semblance of dignity.

He went by Jones, or Alfred for those few he let be close to him. He was pleasant, for a slave, and while he had a mouth on him, he knew when to bite his tongue. His incredible strength almost earned him a spot in the army, where even a slave could earn a home and a living in exchange for a lifetime of service to the Empire, but due to his race he was not given the honor. Instead, he was assigned as a personal guard and attendant to a local lord, protecting the man from his enemies.

Even though he started his dangerous work on the estate at a young age—twelve years was hardly an age befitting a warrior, but the Emperor didn't care too much for the lord and so allowed the assignment, hoping the slave would fail—he once again defied all odds and performed in an exemplary fashion. Indeed, even the new American recruits training under Yao were adept, though none as astute as Alfred.

For three years he stayed at his lord's side, eventually earning the right to command other slaves and attendants. Head of the home guard, he lived relatively comfortably, getting two meals a day and new clothes once a year. Rumor had it that the lord was quite taken with Alfred's loyalty as well as his beauty, as unique as it was with his tan skin, covered in freckles, so unlike the fine, porcelain skin of the local men and women.

Alfred had no right to say no to his master's advances, of course, but he took advantage of the situation, and most of the other slaves grew to resent the young man, calling him a whore or even accusing him of witchcraft. He kept quiet, even when his master took to punishing his opponents. In the rare event that the master let the slaves live after their comments, they were usually found in bed the next morning, throats slit or suffocated in the night. Of course, Alfred was always in his master's bed, so it couldn't have been his doing.

His lord's manor was far to the west, a sign of the King's dislike of the man. Despite this, he paid his taxes dutifully and provided the capitol with ample wheat and fruit grown by the slaves. The Master was proud of his plantation. The summer had been dry, but still his crops thrived. Alfred was smart, oddly enough, and remembered every one of Yao's teachings. He revolutionized the irrigation network throughout the orchards and fields, ensuring high yields. It was hard work for the other slaves, of course, but he didn't mind now that he was holding the whip and not the hoe.

He stood beside his Master on their—no, not their; Alfred owned nothing, was nothing—bedroom balcony, watching as the sun set on another labor-filled day. The Master had enjoyed a peaceful time inside, entertaining family and dining on decadent delights while Alfred stood by, making sure the chef tested each food for poison. He almost wished he was the taste-tester if only so that he could sample the gourmet offerings, but instead he waited till after every meal for his own short break and plate of slop.

"Alfred?" his master began. He very rarely spoke to Alfred other than to give him an order, go fetch this, go kill him, take off your clothes… so Alfred was understandably confused.

"Yes, Master?"

"Do you yearn to be free?"

"No, Master."

The man sighed. "I know you're required to say that, but you can be honest with me. Do you not trust me?"

"My life is entrusted to you, Master."

The man rolled his eyes. As fun as it was to have the blond warm his bed and intimidate his guests with his impressive frame—maybe the cooks should cut back on the slaves' rations, he sure was a large boy, and still growing!—speaking to him was like speaking to a wall. He had heard that during training, Alfred was more amiable, had friends even, but in his home, he was the perfect servant. He was not a fan of receiving a toy that was already broken, and Winter knew this.

"Fine, be that way. I wish to bathe. Come."

"Yes, Master."

In the bath, Alfred was daydreaming, a vice he had come to crave. Even when he was attending his master, getting fucked by him, beating another slave, he dreamt. He dreamt not of freedom, for he didn't know the meaning. Nor did he dream of food and a soft bed and pretty women, as those were nothing more than ephemeral trappings of the earth. No, he dreamt of red. He dreamt of blood. He dreamt of power, of destroying every damn Russian on the earth. He smiled, seeing Wang Yao's head removed from his body. While he'd never seen the Emperor, in his mind's eye, the man's disemboweling was all too clear. He didn't even care if he ever returned to his home that he barely remembered, to those vague figures he saw at night that he thought may be his parents. He'd kill them all, too, if it meant felling Winter's entire family tree.

He sighed, perfectly timing the sound with his master's rough ministrations. The key to stroking a man's ego was making him think he was a god in bed. Alfred was as much an expert at lying as he was at multitasking. As his master calmed down from his temporary high, Alfred stood from the bath, ignoring a hard slap to his bare ass. Grabbing some towels, he rubbed his master dry before retiring with him to bed.

It was revolting the way the master clung to him at night. He'd long since forced his wife to move to another bedroom in favor of Alfred. Alfred allowed the contact, however, as he always did. On that night, he was particularly pliant, even going so far as to gift the master with a quick kiss. The man was delighted, practically puffing out his chest at the attention.

Little did he know that it would be his last night with Alfred. His last night with anyone, for that matter.

Alfred grinned into his master's chest. Oh, how he wished he could angle his head up, use his strong canines to tear out the man's jugular. Instead, he waited.

* * *

"What do mean burned down?" Emperor Winter grumbled to a messenger over his breakfast. On his right, the seat was empty. It was previously filled by his wife, but she had passed only months before. The empire still mourned.

"Well, it has been a particularly dry summer, sir, and the castle was old. The fields are not salvageable either, and he was one of our primary suppliers," the quiet man explained.

"I see. And why does his name sound familiar?" he turned to an adviser.

"You usually accuse this lord of cheating at cards. You moved him out west so that he wouldn't come to any balls or events. He also had that first of Yao's American servants."

"Ah, that's right. And he's dead, you say?"

"Yes, your highness," the messenger's voice was barely above a whisper. "None of the family survived. Only a handful of slaves made it out as their lodgings were so far underground that they waited out the initial fire. Of course most were trapped, perhaps still are."

The Emperor waved his hand. "What of it? Well, I suppose those remaining should be captured before they try to run."

"Already done, sir."

"Good, and where are they?"

"Currently waiting in the Pits, as it was the only place with room to house all of them. I was awaiting your orders."

He shrugged. "Any of Yao's make it out?"

"Yes sir. The American made it, he was personal attendant to the Lord. Along with him were several Britons, two strong men. And a Gaul."

"I see. And the rest?"

"Normal slaves, sir. Untrained beyond what the house staff required."

"Very well. I will take those four into this household. The rest may stay in the Pits."

The man bowed. "Yes, your highness. They will be ready by lunch time."

"I will meet them. Ivan," the man finally turned to another at the table, a young man, his son.

The Grand Duke met his eyes, resisting the urge to shiver at the seemingly dead orbs. His own, flashing purple in the light, were a stark contrast. "Yes, father?"

"I shall give you one of these young men. Have fun with him as you may."

His cheeks went pink. "My lord, I do not wish to dishonor my betrothed." The word was disgusting on his tongue. He did not want to marry his sister, but the girl was favored by their father and convinced him it was necessary in order to preserve the family line. Ivan wished she was more like their older sister, content to live as a spinster. The women had it lucky, he thought. He winced, remembering that that was not the case at all. At least he was allowed to govern himself. Hell, in a few years he'd be governing a kingdom, perhaps Kiev to the south, and eventually the Empire depending on how long his aged and stubborn father wanted to stick around.

"Bah, have some fun while you're young, my son. Natalya would not mind, isn't that right?"

His youngest child bristled beside Ivan, but she shook her head.

"Very good! Now, I have some matters to attend to, everyone is dismissed."

The family and attendants bowed their heads, thanking the Emperor for his presence. As soon as he left, they followed, abandoning food even if they weren't finished. If the Emperor was done, so were they, as that was how things worked at the palace.

* * *

Despite what his Master— _ex-Master_ , he thought, giggling—thought, Alfred was actually rather social, though only on occasions when his Master was so drunk that he wouldn't notice Alfred sneaking out or when he was out of town and chose not to have Alfred attend him. He of course was hard-pressed to find friends or even acquaintances in the house, as most slaves hated him. Sure, they understood that he was bound just as they were, but they still hated him for the preferential treatment he received.

He had managed to earn the respect of several other slaves at the house, and so chose to save them from the tragic fire. They never knew of course, only counting themselves lucky when they received last minute assignments far from the house that fateful day. It was surprising, how quickly the fire spread; His irrigation system, while brilliant for the crops, diverted the water from the house's main wells. Even if the workers had been awake and had twice their numbers, they couldn't have stopped the fire, as any aid was too far from the house.

Berwald and Matthias were from the North, but it was easier to claim themselves to be British. The Nordics were barely above Americans in the pecking order, even though their masters couldn't tell the difference between the groups. The pair also hated each other; Alfred never knew why, but they still worked well together. Matthew, the fourth member of their gang, was another American, but he spoke enough French to claim he was from Gaul and thus avoid too much misery.

Alfred's patience admittedly had run thin, and he wanted to ensure that the entire family was lost in the fire. His master, a heavy sleeper thanks to an open throat, lost his wife and children that night, hours before the fire struck. Their charred remains would never reveal the truth.

Of course, that information was also kept to himself, as Alfred didn't want his friends spreading rumors about him at their new place of employ. They were the few who believed that he hadn't killed the slaves who insulted him, trusting his claim that his master had compensated the perpetrators' roommates to do the deed. As Yao's men, they were trained to wholeheartedly trust in the words of a superior, be he slave or free.

Idiots.

Their cell door opened, the meek messenger from before having returned.

"Yao's men, come with me," he ordered in a tone that was far from authoritative.

They stood, Alfred shaking slightly with glee.

"Where are we going?" Matthew asked, his own meek voice something of a comfort to the messenger, who smiled.

"To meet the Emperor. From this day forward, you belong to his household only."

* * *

Ivan sat beside his father, bored out of his mind. He sorely wanted to be Emperor, but it was dreadfully boring work from what he'd observed. Long ago, his people were nothing more than a warring band of tribes. He wished things were still so simple. Now all there was was management of land and wealth and partnering with Asian and German kings. No one rose against anyone. Sure, there was the odd raid by barbarians to the west or north, but those were easily dealt with.

The messenger from before—Ivan remembered him as Toris, a good, honest, Baltic man—had returned. Though not Russian, Ivan's people and his shared a rich history of domination and submission. Respectable lot, them.

Behind him strode four figures, tall and proud. Yao always taught his slaves to play as if they had some pride. Ivan thought it excessive, as any noble would know the truth.

The first was tall with spiky, blond hair. A German, he figured. Though some Germans were citizens with marketable skills, it wasn't uncommon for them to become slaves as well. They all looked the same to him. Even the second was the same, though his face was less expressive. The third, another blond—were they all German? And the fourth—

Oh no, not German, that one.

Ivan could see it in his eyes, that bright blue, not icy like the others. He was still young. Probably still innocent—well, as innocent as a slave could purport to be. He knew how perverse masters were. There was no way one as fair as the fourth one could have been untouched.

The boy seemed so timid compared to the others. It was almost endearing, the way he shuffled, keeping his bright eyes partially shut, as if mere skin and lashes could dull the shine. They had all been cleaned prior to their presentation, as was appropriate, and changed into the house slave's dress. Since their castle had no farms to tend or even much in the way of heavy lifting, their robes were shorter and tighter, showing more skin. Thus he was able to see the man's muscles, his tan lines, his scars from beatings.

He licked his lips.

"You were trained by Yao, is this right?" his father asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," they bowed in unison, voices blending together. Ivan's ears strained to deduce which one belonged to Him.

"Names and jobs?"

The first cleared his throat. "Matthias, sir. I tended the fields and oversaw perimeter security."

"Berwald. Same as him."

"Matthew," he squeaked. "I cooked and provided specific services to the lord's sons."

Ivan's eyes widened. A slave specifically for sex? That was odd, they were usually _all_ understood to accommodate that role if the need arose. The lord was an odd one, indeed. Though, he supposed his father was encouraging the same thing by "giving" one of these men to Ivan.

"Alfred Jones, master. Attendant to the late lord." He didn't make eye contact, but his voice was strong.

"Alright. You first two can tend the gardens. Perhaps after some training you may join my private guard. The frog can be in the kitchen. And the little Yank…" he smiled. "You will begin training with my guard immediately, at least until I find something better for you." He turned to his son, who was leaning forward. "Ivan?"

"Yes, father?"

"I remember my promise. Is there one which you would like?"

"Alfred would do well, sir," he hoped his quick response wasn't too eager.

His father smirked, and Ivan inwardly cursed. "Oh? The American? They are a wild lot, I've heard. Untamable like mustangs. But, he's nearly broken in, are you sure?"

Ivan nodded.

"Well, I've got your position then, Alfred!" he clapped his hands. "You will serve the same role you served your old master… for me."

Ivan was smiling, but then the words caught up to him. "What? Father—"

"Don't be a brat. Your tastes are unrefined. If you still want the boy when I'm done with him, then you may have him. I'll break him in yet. In the meanwhile, help yourself to the others, they all look the same. Especially that Gaul, he and Alfred could be twins! But his eyes match yours, and he's trained in such matters." He noticed Ivan's glum expression. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir."

"Good, you're all dismissed. All but Alfred, you will come with me. Toris, show the rest where to go."

All those present bowed. While Ivan shuffled out behind the slaves, he met Alfred's eyes.

They shone with such clarity, Ivan could see the despair in them. "Help me", they screamed. "Save me, take me, love me," echoed in his mind. He froze, halfway through the door. Behind that despair, Alfred's eyes flashed with another emotion: hope, love, adoration? His breath hitched at the sight. How could a slave achieve such a look? He had been told that they were incapable of such emotional depth.

And then, a soft smile, just an upturn of chapped lips.

Ivan's world crashed around him.

He only wished his eyes conveyed his promise to the slave. Ignoring his father's cough, he nodded, as if affirming the boy's naïve hopes. When Alfred blushed prettily, averting his eyes slightly, Ivan felt his world rise once more.

Within seconds, his fate was sealed. He would forever be caught in that boy's trap, forever straining to remain in his sight. His father be damned, the empire may it burn if only he could stroke that silky hair, golden like wheat, if only he could rub those reddened cheeks and count each sunspot, cooling each with kisses, if only he could lather each scar with love and pleasure that body so much that all past pain be forgotten.

He finally regained his composure, blushing as he exited.

Alfred's eyes followed his retreating form. His mind was racing, and he smirked. Turning back to the King, his sad eyes were back. With tentative steps forward, he took the offered hand, following the Emperor back to his chambers.

All the while his plan reworked itself. He fought to hide his manic grin from the man on top of him, thinking only of the young lord, his willing and most noble pawn.

 **.**

 **spicygenou: Why hello hello my lovely friends! It is I, back at it again with my hetalia OTP! Now, I hope you realize I'm taking liberties with the "nations" and the borders and whatnot, so if it's confusing, I apologize. I also plan to talk more about the history of this world in a few chapters (ch. 4 or 5 probably). I will be combining themes/places/events of both Russian and American history. I'm far from an expert on either, but they're both incredibly interesting! Since I already have a few chapters written, they'll probably be posted rather quickly, like in a day or two, but feel free to motivate me with reviews anyway! :D Also, Russia will seem OOC for a bit... in my head, he's like a very young Ivan right now whereas Alfred is more mature because of his situation. He'll catch up eventually, don't you fret! Toodles!**


	2. Chapter 2

The presence of the new slaves caused hardly a stir in the household. Each took to their roles well, such was the efficaciousness of Yao's training. To them, it mattered not who their master was. All a good slave needed to be happy was a firm hand, or so Ivan was taught.

The prince spent a few days bemoaning his existence. Too distracted for lessons, he instead reclined in his rooms, reading his sisters' romance novels for leisure and thinking of his beloved sunflower Alfred.

The young slave was always at his father's side, which enraged Ivan. He knew that he was being dangled in front of him, taunting him. It sickened him, the way his father doted on the slave, even allowing him to eat the same food as them, to stroll the gardens as he pleased. And what good it did him, his hard muscles gaining a healthy layer of fat and his skin darkening to a delightful caramel-like glow. It was _he_ who should be treating Alfred that way. Oh, how his heart would break if the slave ended up liking his father, of all people. He had to save Alfred from the man before his simple mind grew too accustomed to the treatment. It was known that Yao's slaves were blindly loyal to cruel masters, so even the smallest of niceties could sway a slave to one's side permanently.

Ivan grew sick of his far-off admiration, but he never got the chance to see the slave alone or for long. When Alfred wasn't with his father, he was training privately with the guard or in the kitchens commanding other house slaves. Whenever they saw each other in passing, he'd try his best to smile or offer a reassuring glance, and Alfred was always receptive, sometimes smiling back and often reddening at the sight. It was driving Ivan mad, to be so close to one so lovely but not to touch. He had never been denied anything for so long in his life, and he cursed the unfairness of his lot.

On a particularly challenging day—he'd been blessed with the sight of a shirtless American while on his way to dinner—he was left questioning the purpose of his existence without the blond by his side. In his mood, he thought the only people who could relate to him were the dead and damned, and so he made his way to the familial crypt on the edge of the estate, his black cloak swishing behind him.

For a while, he was alone with his thoughts, the restless spirits of his ancestors providing something of a comfort for the morose young man. His lantern was running low on oil, and so he moved to leave.

A sudden onslaught of voices—living, breathing humans—stopped him.

"We're so late," someone moaned, a man. "The show will probably be over."

"Be quiet," a stern voice sounded next. Ivan thought the voices sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't name the speakers exactly. They were slaves, judging by their language of choice; he wasn't fluent in English, only knowing phrases that his caretakers had muttered during his youth. All the nobles and monarchs were trained in Chinese, perhaps German, not the languages of the slaves.

"Yeah, no need to worry, Matthias! We'll be just in time for the fun part!" he could hear the smile on this one's voice, immediately recognizing it even after having not heard it for himself in what seemed like years.

The group turned the corner to where Ivan was sitting, laughing at something he could not hear through the rapid pulsing in his ears.

He looked up as the figures froze, finally noticing his presence.

They of course recognized him easily enough, straightening up and bowing. Slaves weren't allowed in the crypts, especially not this late, so they bore guilty faces, all but Alfred who seemed more excited than anything.

"What are you doing here?" Ivan finally asked.

"There is a path through these halls that leads past the walls, my lord," the most serious-looking man replied. Slaves never lied, the gods didn't give them such imaginations to do so.

"And why did you wish to leave the grounds? Are you running away?"

"No, sir. We only wished to go to town for the night. The merchants who visited today mentioned a grand festival in the slums where even lowly slaves are welcome."

"I see. It would be my duty to see you four punished, and to ensure this path is blocked. It is a clear breach in our defenses, one my guards didn't even know about."

"Most of the slaves and guards know about it, as they use it to get into town often."

"Really?" he was surprised that the slaves could be so duplicitous.

"Yes, but they'd never allow outsiders back in. And everyone always returns by the morning to resume their duties."

"I still must tell the King about this. He will see to your punishment. Withholding such information is a crime."

The men bowed, all but one.

"Please, my lord, do not punish these men. It was my idea to come out tonight, I had heard about the path as well as the party and convinced them."

"Is this true?" he asked. The others nodded. Ivan could've sworn the temperature in the hall increased in that moment. He swallowed. "Well, then the rest of you may proceed. I am a merciful lord, and I see no harm in letting our workers let off some steam as they wish. Alfred, however, will stay here."

Before he could possibly change his mind, the trio rushed past him, turning right and leaving Ivan and Alfred in near darkness. The Prince stepped forward, lifting his hand tentatively. Alfred met his steady gaze, only flinching slightly when Ivan's hand met his cheek in a gentle caress.

"I do not wish to punish you, my gem. You are too precious and fragile. I am not like my father, and I will not treat you so poorly."

Alfred only nodded.

"Has he been harming you?"

He shook his head.

"Has he claimed you?"

Another nod. Ivan sighed.

"He's always so barbarous with the new slaves. It's disgusting, how he demeans you as such. You poor thing, so frail and powerless." He brought his hands to the other's arms; he could barely wrap his hand around the bicep, and yet to him the slave was nothing more than a helpless, frightened lamb. "If you were mine you'd never work again, you'd be cared for for the rest of your days. Would this please you?"

"No, Master. My only duty is to work."

"If I ordered it you would be happy by my side."

"Of course, sir."

Ivan smiled, pleased with himself. Wooing was always much easier when the target had no free will. "Your accent displeases me. How has Yao not beaten it out of you yet?"

"My old master enjoyed it. He said it reminded him of how rare I was."

"What an idiot. Your looks alone do that. I want to hear you sound respectable. You will learn to speak properly. Can you read?"

He nodded. That was odd, Yao usually didn't teach that. "My old master taught me. As his attendant, I often helped him with the accounts and records."

"I see. And did your old master claim you as well?"

"Yes."

Ivan growled, a deep rumbling in his chest. "Deplorable, I say. Did you even want him?"

"I wanted only to serve my master," the response was robotic.

"And my father?"

"I only want to serve the Emperor."

"You poor thing. What do you know of poetry?"

"Nothing, sir."

Ivan sighed, bringing to mind a verse he'd read that day, "'How can a worm, so low, so cold, know of the love of the sun, so high, so hot? Should the sun touch that worm, would it live? Should the worm rise to the sun, would it burn? But to live without the view, the warmth, 'tis a worser fate, by far.'" He shut his eyes, remembering how giddy he was when he'd read that verse. How apt, he thought, and how true: even if his superior mind and heart overwhelmed Alfred, it was his duty to give his love, as it would still be a greater life than what he'd known, blissfully ignorant as he was. "Do you understand?"

"No, sir."

"I will have you yet, my heart. And not as a slave and master. You will be like my equal. If I were emperor, I would ensure it."

"Master, my training prompts me to warn you against this. Slaves should not be promised freedom. It is bad for our morale and too complex for our minds."

He waved his hand. "I know this, of course. But your mind is of no consequence to me. Your beauty and simplicity are what drew me to you, you fair and exotic flower."

"Sir, it is in your interest to punish me, as you said. Letting us get away with misdeeds will only encourage further—"

Ivan shushed him with a finger, gingerly placed on his lips. "What, you wish me to hurt you? To take you right here and now?"

"The method of punishment is for you alone to choose. As for what I want, I want only to serve the house and my masters."

"I am not my father, Alfred, and I will not treat you as he does. When I have you, it will not be a punishment, nor an order. You will come to me one day, willingly submitting yourself and experiencing only the utmost of pleasure. As a higher being, it is my burden to teach you these things, yes?"

The slave nodded.

"You are quick for a slave. Now, I must give you this order. Do not tell my father of this. He already knows that I was bewitched by you from the moment I saw you. I will not be made a fool of, is that clear?" Another nod. "Good." He pulled the other towards him in a blur of motion, crashing their lips together harshly.

As he imagine he'd be, Alfred was warm, soft, pliant. It would take little effort at all for Ivan to take him, as crude as it would be in such a morbid location. But, as a noble, he had higher reasoning and greater self-control. He was no beast. As tempting as it was to venture his already wandering tongue lower, he resisted, pulling away.

"Next time that happens, it will be you who's begging for it," he assured. Gathering his lamp, he turned brusquely, leaving the slave alone in the dark before he could change his mind and ravish him right then and there.

After he was sure Ivan was gone, Alfred chuckled to himself. He wiped off the excess saliva from his lips, rolling his eyes at the Prince's actions. It was adorable, really, how Ivan blushed at him so. He tried so hard whenever they met to appear strong and in control, but Alfred could smell a virgin from a mile away. It was clear that Ivan was head over heels for him, yet he also had no idea what he was doing. He assumed he would be taking the lead due to his status, and of course Alfred would comply if necessary. Anything to get closer to the future king, to seduce him and bend him to his will.

He laughed, slightly louder. The nobles were idiots to think so poorly of the slaves, but it worked to his advantage. They thought him cowed, thought that Yao's methods were foolproof. Sure, they were efficient, but not all slaves were sheep. Each could act as was proper in the house and have their own lives outside; they could love and enjoy art and laugh.

Or as in Alfred's case, they could hate.

Oh, it was amazing how easy Ivan was. It was convenient that the man was taken with Alfred's looks, but he figured the main charm he had was his unavailability. The spoiled brat couldn't stand not having this new toy, and the King's denial only made him that much more desirable.

Alfred followed Ivan's steps a few minutes later, making his way back toward the palace. He'd had no intention of going into town, his goal had only been to find Ivan alone. He figured he'd be getting fucked by the clueless prince at that point, but the other was rather sentimental. The idiot didn't even recognize his own hypocrisy, calling out his father while mistreating Alfred in other ways. And to recite such a simple poem? It was almost laughable. He'd hoped the prince's tastes would be more advanced than that. Alfred swore the palace was heating up not because of the season, but because of the thousands of sighs leaving Ivan's mouth those days.

He returned to his spot outside the door to the king's bath just as the man stepped out, freshly cleaned by his many maids. Alfred was promptly dismissed for the evening, where after he retreated to his room. He settled into bed, his exhaustion catching up to him and rendering him unconscious in minutes. His visit to the crypts inspired his visions, bringing a smile to his sleeping form as skulls piled up around him and rivers of red flowed through the cracks. He hadn't slept so soundly in years.

* * *

A week passed and Ivan managed to get back into his usual routine, though his tutors noticed his continued inattentiveness. They did not wish to tell the emperor, as the man was far too busy dealing with minor attacks from the north, forcing him to strengthen ties with Yao's army. Ivan cared little for the many lessons, but he humored them nonetheless. He only seemed to be focused when art or literature was discussed, and he asked many questions pertaining to romantic works.

His reunion with Alfred was far from what he dreamt it would be. Over lunch, his father had announced that he would be leaving the castle for a few days, placing his advisors in charge. Ivan huffed at the announcement: why couldn't he be ever be given any responsibility? He was to rule one day, after all. It was only fair.

"Toris," the king addressed the messenger, who scrambled to his side.

"Yes, your majesty?"

"I would like for you to escort Alfred into town today. I'm sure you've already been briefed on the situation."

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent," he smirked, glancing sideways toward Ivan, whose brow furrowed.

"What are you doing with him, father?"

"Ah, my dear son, I grow so bored of this one. It's been only a month, and I've had my fill. He wasn't as wild as I'd hoped."

"I thought you would reassign him when that happened," Ivan glared.

"I am. This is all for Alfred's benefit, you see. He will find greater opportunities in the Pits, more than he'd have here. We've made a deal. If he can hold up his end, becoming champion and surviving long enough, I will give him the honor of becoming a real soldier in my army. He will be free of the shackles that bind him," he smiled, eyes twinkling. Ivan fumed, knowing that the man was only treating Alfred's life so frivolously to get to him.

"If you're feeling so philanthropic, why don't you just give him his freedom, then?"

"That would be unfair, and then any brawny slave would demand the same. He would be the first to go through this path, but I would offer the same to any who follow it."

"After going through all this, then what? He'll be a lowly foot soldier, dying at your command?"

"He would die a free man, though if he has the strength to survive a year in the Pits, I'd imagine he'd rise through the ranks."

"No man would accept an ex-slave as a commander. He'd be killed by his own peers."

"So be it. Alfred has already agreed."

"He has no choice!"

The Emperor only smiled. "Do not be so sad. I've spent many a night with Alfred, his body is strong enough." Ivan's jaw clenched, encouraging his father. "He will be a beacon of hope for the slaves. But, even when free, his loyalty will be to me, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Master," Alfred's eyes seemed dull, so different from their usual brilliance.

"Excellent. The slaves will follow him blindly, as is their way. When they see him happily returning to a kind master, any hopes for a rebellion will be squashed."

Ivan was lost. "Rebellion? Is this a pressing concern?"

"Foolish boy, of course it is! Ah, but it is no matter. Perhaps I shield you too much from the realities of this world. You sit idly by in this castle without knowing the true colors of your future domain. The people are restless in town, especially the slaves not trained by Yao or his family. They throw around ridiculous ideas such as emancipation. Extermination is all they get, and things have quieted lately. But, the sentiment is still around, festering under the surface."

"I… didn't know."

The King nodded. "Again, it is my fault, I suppose. It's less noticeable here because our staff are professionals, completely docile. When I get back from the war front, I will give you a more detailed lesson on what it's like in the real world. In the meantime, you will focus on your studies. I also wish for you to take my place at the Pits tomorrow. Alfred will have his first test, so I'm sure it'll be a show."

Ivan bit his tongue, already mourning the slave's impending doom. No one lasted long in the Pits, as when a potential champion arose, their conditions were made more unbearable. They'd starve them, deprive them of sleep, and then force them to fight multiple healthy opponents at once, sometimes even animals. Entering the Pits ensured a quick death, and those few slaves who weren't there for punishment accepted that fate gladly.

He looked up to see Alfred leave with Toris, though not before his father kissed his lips ever so gently. He even gave the boy a rare smile, one that wasn't filled with malice. But, he knew any affection his father had for him was a sham, otherwise he wouldn't deal him such a cruel hand. Alfred's stride was confident—he knew Yao took great pride in forcing that habit—but still his face betrayed his hesitance.

After the pair were gone, he turned back to his father.

"Why are you doing this to him? Can't you let him be?"

"Why, it's all for you, of course."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb. I am teaching you a lesson. It doesn't bode well to be so easily enraptured with something barely above an animal. Remember this, boy, he is worthless. His life is in my hands, and I will not have you make a mockery of this family by favoring him."

"And what of you? Wasn't that kiss a sign of your own affection?"

The man stood suddenly, his chair making a harsh sound as it slid across the stone. "I am the Emperor, so I may do whatever I please! If you want to fuck a stupid slave, I will not care. But I will not have my son mooning over one and letting him in your head!"

"What are you saying?" Ivan paled slightly. Was it possible that Alfred had betrayed him, telling his father of his words in the crypt?

"You are an idiot. Your sisters of course have told me of your newfound romantic streak. You really are so obvious. You will attend Alfred's fights until he dies, then I will punish you for forcing me to kill off such a useful worker, do you understand?"

"Yes, father."

He nodded. "Good. You will be prompt tomorrow. It has been many years since the people have seen you, and you must make a good impression. Show your strength, deny any loser mercy, alright?"

Ivan shrugged, stubbornly refusing to give the man more words.

"You'll understand things better when you're older. I'm glad your queen at least has a reasonable head on her shoulders."

"Thank you, father," she finally spoke.

"Ivan, you should be glad I'm taking care of this. Natalya wished for me to have _you_ kill the boy. But, I didn't want to sully your hands so soon. Who knows, perhaps Alfred will make it out?" he laughed.

Having lost his appetite, Ivan excused himself, retreating to his rooms to sulk. He knew he'd be hard-pressed to catch up to Toris and Alfred after his delay, but perhaps he could see the boy before his fight. He ordered some slaves to draw him a bath, so stressed was he from his father's mistreatment. While he soaked, he planned his day out, content with the probability of his own success.

If his father thought Ivan wouldn't win Alfred, he was just as stupid as the slave.

* * *

After a few exchanges of coins, Ivan was able to see Alfred before his fight the following evening, though he almost wished he hadn't. He had never seen such disgusting living conditions, hundreds of men sleeping together in such close proximity. The "chambers" smelled worse than their stables, he thought, and he didn't want to know why. He'd arranged for a guard to bring Alfred and him to a more private room—apparently some of the slaves could use the space and arrange for services from any number of whores in town—in order to speak with him.

As always, Alfred was radiant. They had at least given him some armor to wear, though the tunic was still rather short and the mail thin and delicate. Not that Ivan minded the view in the slightest, however, he did realize Alfred would be more vulnerable in such an ensemble.

"How are you?" he realized how absurd his question was the second he asked it. "I apologize. This is all my fault. If I had been less obvious in my pursuit—"

Alfred smiled, immediately shutting the Prince up with his intense gaze. "There is no need to apologize, my lord. As your father said, we came to an agreement. I will win this, of this you may be sure."

"Don't be so brash, no one's survived longer than a few months in the Pits! How long must you fight?"

"One year, not too long actually," he grinned. "Besides, I've lucked out. You see, today's my birthday, which means I can't lose. And I will be the champion at the year's end, and I will be free. From then on this day will be celebrated as a day of freedom, of independence."

The boy's confidence was inspiring, and Ivan could only stare. Finally, he shook his head, clearing away less than wholesome thoughts that the figure before him was inspiring. "I believe in you Alfred. I know it won't help you much, but I want you to have this." He reached into a pocket, removing from it a small medallion, fastened to a heavy gold chain.

"If I'm not mistaken, I would say that this is a lady's favor?" he smirked, a devilish glint that made Ivan's knees weak.

"You are no free man yet, and still you are so bold!" Ivan flushed. Alfred took the offering, his fingers lingering on Ivan's.

"What can I say? You are in my territory. All are equal here in the Pits. It matters not to what station you were born." He stepped in closer, the skies in his eyes clouding over. Ivan shivered, nearly falling to his knees when the others lips ghosted over his own. "I'm quite enjoying my first taste of freedom, little master. Though I believe you said yourself that I'd be begging the next time we met like this."

Ivan nodded dumbly.

"Well, the thing is, I don't beg anymore." He ran his finger, wrapped with the jewelry, over Ivan's cheek. "You seem troubled. What's the matter?"

"Kiss me," Ivan nearly whispered it, his pride taking the brunt of the blow, but he didn't care.

"Is that an order?" Alfred glared, his hand having snuck behind Ivan now pulling him tight against his chest.

"N-no... would you kiss me? Please?"

Alfred responded with a firm but gentle kiss. Where Ivan's had been quick and clumsy, this one was careful, calculated. It took Ivan's breath away, both the technique and the fact that it was with Alfred. _Finally_ , he thought to himself, sighing as he allowed Alfred to probe with his tongue and run his hands over Ivan's body.

"Alfred? You're up—oh, what the fuck?"

Ivan jumped at the sudden voice, attempting to pull away. He opened his eyes to see the guard watching them with an amused smirk. Much to his embarrassment, Alfred was shameless with his affection. Ivan finally mustered the strength to push him away. How long had he been sucking at his neck, anyway? He knew he was red in the face, to allow a lowly slave see him in such a state!

"What is it, Gil?" Alfred asked, his eyes darkening not with lust but with anger as he glanced at the man.

He sniggered. "They're calling for you to get your weapon. And the Prince needs to take his spot in the booth. I can buy you three more minutes, tops." And with that, the strange man—Ivan had never seen an albino before—parted.

Ivan huffed, his wits catching up with him. "That was quite embarrassing, I'll have you know. And, you shouldn't treat me like some weak woman, I am the future King of Muscovy, the future Emperor of Russ!"

Alfred would not release him, only chuckling at the other's expense. "Of course, little master. I wouldn't dream of it. You are a man, which is much to my liking."

Ivan sputtered. "You are so vulgar! And I am not little! I'm still growing!"

"Oh, I'm well aware of your growing," Alfred raised his brows suggestively, grinding his hips against Ivan's in a crude yet erotic manner. Ivan stifled a moan, though it leaked out as a sort of whimper.

"How old are you?" he blurted out.

"As of today, I'm sixteen," his hands were still exercising their newfound freedom, which only agitated Ivan further.

"Well, that means I'm older than you!"

"I know that. But as of right now you're still shorter than me."

"I haven't hit my growth spurt yet!"

Alfred laughed, finally releasing the prince. "I'm aware. I know in a few years you will be just as tall as the Emperor, perhaps more so. As for me, I've peaked, so you will surely surpass me. So, allow me this time, as short as it may be, as short as you, even, to tease you."

He crossed his arms. "Fine, be that way. I don't know why I even gave you that favor, go ahead and die."

"Aw, such a short temper, too," Alfred bent down, patting Ivan's head. He gave a swift kiss before smiling, leaving the prince all alone in a matter of seconds.

He collected his bearings, straightening out the randomly rumpled clothes—really, though, how long had they been kissing? And where did that slave gain the audacity to take such liberties with him? Huffing, he exited the room, glaring at the smirking guard.

"Tell anyone of this, and I will have you skinned," he gave his signature chilling smile, which wiped the dumb look from the man's face immediately.

"Of course, your highness. I will escort you to your seat."

A few minutes later, Ivan was seated in the Pits' honorary booth. It was comfortable enough, and several slaves were quick to offer him beverages as well as shade. He accepted both services, as the day was growing rather hot even as the sun was setting. In addition, the stadium was warming thanks to a pouring in of commoners, most of them having just gotten off of work. Watching the fights was always a popular activity, and he knew many a man had cast their wages on the fighters.

The first few rounds were nothing too exciting. As his father advised, Ivan ordered the execution of those who lost, and the victors were quick to comply. This earned him applause, and he couldn't help but swell with pride at the murmurs of positivity that his ears could catch. Who didn't like a good slaughter every now and then, especially if they were just slaves?

The crowd was eager for Alfred's fight, as he was already facing the defending "champion", a disgraced soldier who'd been in the Pits for two months—the current record. The man was an imposing figure, easily carrying his longsword in one hand. Across from him, Alfred stood proudly, a much shorter sword his only ally.

The horns sounded, announcing the start of the fight. The crowd cheered at a quick misstep by Alfred, and he was forced back toward a corner. Ivan paled. Could his love fail so early? After all those words… how could he have lied so easily to him? He would stop the fight, his father be damned. Alfred could not die, not like this.

Beside him, Gilbert chuckled. "Do not fret, my lord," he kept his voice low so as not to alert the other attendants. "Alfred is sly. Despite his bulk, he's quick on his feet. He is merely baiting the oaf right now."

Their swords sang together over the jeers. "How can you be so sure?"

"I saw him train earlier. Even if I hadn't, any warrior knows that one of the biggest mistakes to make is backing an enemy into a corner. That's when they get desperate."

A sharp clang, and a sword fell. Its owner slumped to the ground soon after. The crowd was silent, then uproarious.

Gilbert chuckled at Ivan's dumbfounded look. The prince was too absorbed in watching a waving Alfred, covered in gore but otherwise unharmed. The new fighter was bold, looking straight at Ivan and kissing the favor he'd been given.

Since Alfred had felled his opponent, Ivan didn't have to give any orders. Instead, there was a short reprieve so that the body could be cleared and betting tables redrawn. He knew Alfred would become something of a celebrity in the gambling community—perhaps even a villain to some. Gilbert was happy, himself having bet a hefty sum on his new acquaintance. Though they'd only met hours before, there was something in those eyes that struck him deeply. He was thoroughly convinced that Alfred was a disturbed individual, and it was never a good idea to be on a psychopath's bad side.

With each fight, the prince grew less and less focused. No doubt he wanted nothing more than to find Alfred, though for the prince's safety, he should not be indulged his desires. Gilbert was sure that, like any warrior, Alfred would not be interested in conversation after such a battle. He was also sure that Ivan wouldn't refuse the blond, judging by their previous time together, but still; Alfred would appreciate it if he helped the young man retain some of his honor. At least he thought he would, they weren't exactly friends or confidantes. Maybe he'd be able to get more information from the man in the future, he thought, nodding to himself

At the close, Ivan was escorted away. He'd almost begged Gilbert to allow him to visit Alfred, but the damnable guard was adamant about getting him home, blathering on about flowers and honor and adrenaline and release. Ivan had stopped paying attention and merely resigned himself to his fate. Still, even though the carriage ride and the rest of the night were lonely, his thoughts of their brief moment together burned through his mind, heating his skin and awakening newfound desires of intimacy. So content and warm was he that he almost convinced his sleepy self that he wasn't alone in his large bed at all, that the pillows he held were his beloved, that the blankets wrapped around him were the strong and sure arms of his fighter.

* * *

 **spicygenou: Thanks for the reviews and faves, friends! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

Life at the castle was more bearable without the Emperor around, but Ivan was still bothered without even the possibility of catching sight of his favorite slave. He was banned from traveling into town as well, only free to go to the Pits when Alfred had a scheduled fight.

With all of his free time, Ivan took to reading, though he had had his fill of romantic tales of princes and maidens. His father had allowed him freer access to his personal study, and he busied himself with texts on history. After his encounter with Alfred, he was rather confused, not about his sexual feelings for the man, but about how a slave could act as any other person. All his life he'd been taught that there were the dominant races: the Russians and Asians were at the top (though of course his people had a slight advantage; the Asians only earned their equal positions thanks to their wealth. Had they never met the Russians and formed an alliance, surely they would still be rotting in their putrid land, throwing around gold and spices without knowing anything about economics.); to the south, Byzantium stood like a pillar, untouchable in their holiness, so they were excluded from comparison, though the religious leaders were nearly the same as Russians in terms of power, as the church granted authority to the King; next came the Germans who had evolved in culture since their domination—it helped that they shared ancestors with the Russians, or so history decreed; after them were the proud Gauls and Romans; then the Brits, with their odd language that had somehow taken hold in the hearts of all slaves; the Nordics were a mysterious lot, and the tribes in their homeland were quarrelsome, so they were beaten appropriately; and at the very bottom were the brutes from the Americas.

So, how could someone purported to be the lowest of the low, incapable of simple logic and thought, have conversed with Ivan so well? How could he be so bold, when it was in his blood to be timid? Sure, the American race was less well-documented than the other Europeans, and the rumors of their wildness he knew were highly exaggerated so as to make the slaves more appealing to break. If they truly had separated from western European influence only two centuries ago, about the time when westward travels were quelled by battles on the eastern front, they shouldn't be so different from their ancestors. Perhaps there was something in the land, in their water; or, perhaps something more sinister was afoot: Ivan had been told growing up that pagans often took to blood sacrifices to please a vengeful god. If it was this foul magic that gave Alfred sharpness of mind… couldn't other slaves be just as empowered?

Even small rebellions by the slaves hadn't occurred in the time since the Russian state was founded. They just always… did their jobs, Ivan supposed, and this was confirmed by the books. Why then was his father so worried about a sudden uprising? Was there something going around, giving the slaves power? Is that what had happened to Alfred? He remembered the boy's warning, reminding Ivan to punish him for trying to sneak out. Was it their leniency and kindness that gave the slaves room to think? To issue such propaganda as what his advisers hinted at? He didn't like the thought of some dark magic corrupting the pure mind of his Alfred, so he attributed his particularly bold attitude to years under a too-kind master. He frowned. His slave didn't deserve to be mistreated, though… or did he? He was an American, after all, such was their lot. One couldn't even say it wasn't fair, as that's just how the world was, and things would never be different.

His love for the slave was a problem, and he was starting to understand his father's worry. He almost found himself thinking that things would be better without the forced servitude—his training was quick to squash that blasphemous thought. Slaves were the backbone of his nation, it was a fact. A bone that bent under the head of the state, never thinking for itself.

He shuddered, imagining a world in which the slaves showed such free will as Alfred. It couldn't be possible for them to do so, otherwise they would have already revolted, right?

Uncomfortable with the queasy feeling those readings gave him, he left the study, appearing just in time for his escort. It had been a week since Alfred's last fight, and Ivan's presence was required once more.

The ride into town took longer than usual, as there was some midsummer festival going on. He scoffed as the peasants weaved around his carriage, each straining to catch sight of the Prince. Even though the people shared his blood, they were still far below him. He had been blessed by God himself, mandated to rule over them. Without the royal family, they would fall, just as the slaves would fall without their masters, be they commoner or noble.

Finally they arrived, leaving Ivan no time at all to visit Alfred in his less than impressive quarters. Of course, the fights would not start till he sat, so he could very well demand that guard from before who was guiding him to his seat to go and fetch the blond, but he resisted. After a proper period of applause from the commoners who reveled at his mere existence, Ivan held up a hand, signaling for the start.

It seemed like hours had passed, and he boredly waved away people's lives as if they were nothing. No, he waved them away because they _were_ nothing, he reminded himself. The battle before Alfred's had been rather impressive, even catching his attention, and he really didn't want to have the defeated man, caught in a chokehold but still breathing, killed. The crowd waited, tense and silent, for his decision.

"My lord, I think in this case mercy would be best," Gilbert whispered beside him.

"I do not recall asking for a slave's opinion," he spat back.

"The more men you kill, the less Alfred's chances at being victorious are," he reasoned.

"And how's that?"

"He's trained with these guys, he knows their weaknesses. When he faces them, he'll know what to do. If you kill one, that man is replaced with a rookie, someone who may be desperate. Such a wild card wouldn't bode well for your champion."

Ivan sat staring for a moment longer before defying his father's orders—a first, he noted wryly.

It was apparently the correct decision as the crowd cheered for the merciful ruling, happy to see a favored fighter returning to battle another day.

Gilbert nodded proudly, and if he hadn't been a mere slave, Ivan would've thanked him. As it was, he rightly held his tongue.

"Also, my lord, I am not a slave," Gilbert said while the fighters were taken to the healers.

He raised a brow. "Then why are you serving slaves in the Pits?"

"I'm a simple soldier. I served my time nobly, but a recent edict from the church defending people with my coloring forced me to withdraw—honorably. I earn an honest keep here. You'd be surprised how much defense these fighters required. Though they are slaves, commoners and noble alike value them, both for the money they can earn them as well as their bodies."

"What do you mean?"

He chuckled. "I mean, you're not the only one itching to bed a warrior. When the men here gain success, many a trader come to use them to breed their slave women. And the men are so mistreated and deprived of interaction, they'd be idiotic to refuse. Of course, they can't really refuse, even if a less than friendly lord comes in to satisfy his hunger."

Ivan's face heated in anger. "Will such things happen to Alfred?" he asked.

"He's already becoming a popular target. Nothing's happened yet, of course, as he's too new. Should he win tonight, I'm sure the offers will come pouring in."

"I will not allow another to use him in this way!" Ivan was indignant, not even caring that he was losing his temper in front of a mere subject. "You will keep him from this, is that clear?"

"I can't guarantee that I will always be posted to watch over him. Many guards are paid by the higher up men and women to turn a blind eye…"

"Then I will pay more for you to be attentive," Ivan offered. As predicted, the man agreed, smirking while Ivan tossed him a jewel-covered bangle. "There will be more where that came from."

"I will do as you say, my lord."

"See to it that you do. If Alfred is touched by anyone, I'll have your head on a spike."

"He did mention that you have a way with words," he laughed.

"He mentioned me?" Ivan asked, hopeful for any news.

Gilbert shrugged. "Here and there, he instructed me to give you this before his fight." He slipped Ivan a small piece of paper, covered with a looping scrawl that was surprisingly delicate.

The prince read over the note, blushing slightly at the intimate prose. Alfred's words rivaled that of his favorite poets, and he was impressed. Glancing up, he noticed that the author himself had taken to the field, standing comfortably under the gaze of many a fan. He had no armor this time, only a short cloth covering his vital regions. His muscles rippled in the sun, his strong strides toward his opponents never wavering.

Ivan gasped, finally noticing just who Alfred was facing, or rather what.

Gilbert whistled low. "Wow, I didn't think they'd resort to this so early on."

"What the hell is that?" It appeared to be some sort of boar, though it had fearsome tusks and was at least twice as big as the conventional animal.

"A boar. Sent from Greece. They get a little bigger there, it seems." Ivan nodded at the understatement.

"And why doesn't Alfred have a weapon?"

"A true warrior can defeat this without a weapon!"

"Has that been done before?"

"Er, not in the Pits. They usually get gutted rather quickly. Hey, so will I still get paid if your man dies?"

Ivan glared.

"Alright then, not a humorous guy are you?" He sighed. "Don't look so tense, if Alfred sees you losing your faith, he could actually fall," he lied.

Still, Ivan did straighten up, looking every bit the princely figure he was born to be. Just in time, as Alfred glanced up and gave him a slight grin before taking off toward the beast.

It was a slaughter, to say the least. Ivan was glad he had dined lightly that night, as otherwise his stomach may not have been so strong. With inhuman strength, Alfred had wrestled the creature to the ground, quickly twisting it back on itself. The sickening crack echoed through the stadium, and yet the thing was still alive, thrashing more violently and even standing on its feet. Alfred was quick to thwart its momentum, forcing it into a continuous cycle of self-goring with its tusks. He couldn't imagine such a sturdy looking creature as being so flexible, and could only imagine the pain it suffered. Never during the other fights had he mourned for the dying men as he had for this animal, he noted with a slight frown.

Still, he was overjoyed that Alfred had survived his fight, as was the stunned crowd who had stood to their feet and shouted for the blond, a clear new favorite.

Gilbert laughed. "Oh man, that was a good bout. And everyone will be feasting well on that animal tonight, too! It's a shame you can't stick around. Our top chef is a Gaul, and they always cook the best—"

"I'm sure my food at the _palace_ will suffice," Ivan rolled his eyes. He looked down just as Alfred looked up, shooting him a wink and kissing the golden favor. The man was once again doused with blood, but instead of finding it erotic as Ivan had previously, he grew slightly fearful.

Slaves shouldn't have that much strength. They shouldn't be tactical in their fighting. The Pits only highlighted how brutish and stupid slaves were, and yet there Alfred stood, wickedly smart and strong to boot.

"Gilbert," his voice was weak.

"Yes, sir?"

"You've lived long with these slaves, haven't you?" The albino nodded. "Are they… are they like you and me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can they… reason as we do? Are they intelligent on their own? Without masters?" he asked, unsure how to phrase it.

Gilbert eyed him oddly, then laughed. "Of course not! You should see them between fights, without orders they don't do much on their own."

Ivan let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Of course, it makes sense. I'll be taking my leave now."

"Don't want to visit Alfred today?"

"No thank you," he turned from the playing field, still disturbed by the sight of Alfred's immense strength.

After escorting the prince to his carriage, handing him off to other aides, Gilbert made his way to the kitchens. Predictably, Alfred was already in the kitchen, monitoring the chefs preparing the meat.

"I want to thank you, Alfred, but at the same time wish to kill you for giving us all zis work," the speaker flipped his long blond locks, noticing Gilbert in the doorway. "Ah, bonjour, mon ami, as I was telling Alfred, the food will not be ready till late tonight. I am not a miracle worker and have only just started skinning this beast."

"I was just looking for Alfred, Francis, don't mind me. Unlike our favorite brute I'm not always starving."

Alfred pouted, exuding a playfulness few knew he possessed. Only Matthew had seen it on occasions, as he didn't trust the slave to keep his secrets. These new acquaintances he'd met in the Pits were of a hardier stock, and he had already charmed them to his side.

"I'm a growing boy, I need to eat! How was the prince?" he smirked, knowingly.

Gilbert grinned. "He bought it, just as you said he would. And I'll be making a pretty penny out of this, too."

"Oh, how's that?"

"He wants me to keep an eye on you, make sure you're not being fucked senseless by abusive nobles." He laughed. "He truly thinks you free of any blight or sinfulness." He settled on a stool close to Alfred, running a hand over his thigh with a suggestive look. "But of course we all know that's not true." Alfred chuckled, batting at the hand. Gilbert whined, "You weren't like this last night!"

"Don't complain. That was a momentary lapse in judgment that I'm starting to regret."

Gilbert only laughed, not fazed in the slightest. "Fine, I'll leave you be for now. I can see you eyeing Francis like a piece of meat, anyway."

Francis smiled and gave the pair a wink. "I am not one to deny an admirer, especially one as handsome as our dear future champion."

Alfred shook his head. "You two are too much for me sometimes. I'm not some sex fiend as you all seem to think I am."

"You could be! Anyone here would die for you take them! You've already had your fill of Gilbert, I'm sure. He's nice on the eyes at first, but nothing more than a scoundrel at heart," Francis teased with a smile.

"Hey, are you two making Alfred feel awkward without me?" a third man, another slave, entered.

"We couldn't resist this gangly teen for long, Antonio," Gilbert explained by way of apology.

Alfred laughed. "Great. Well, before you all can gang up on me, I'll be taking my leave," he resisted a pouting Antonio, who made his way to Francis's side to help with the meat.

"Such a prude," Gilbert said. "Oh, before you leave, Alfred, Ivan did say something rather odd."

"Hm? What's that?"

"He was asking about slaves, more precisely about whether you all can think." He barked a laugh. "Idiotic nobles still teaching the same old drivel, I guess. Looks like you've got him rather confused."

Alfred smirked, a tempting look for the three friends who eyed him hungrily. "All according to plan. He doesn't know it yet, but Ivan will prove to be the ultimate inside man for my plans. Stick with me, gentlemen, and we'll be ruling this godforsaken wasteland yet."

When he left, the trio didn't speak of his words, though each of them quietly believed in him. It was odd, the charisma he possessed. In no time at all, he had slaves and commoners alike eating out of the palm of his hand on top of the prince's obvious favor. The other warriors feared and respected him. Late at night, when the ale was flowing—despite Gilbert's words to the prince, the Pits were actually full of boisterous activities and life after hours—he spoke of his homeland, spoke of his dreams of a liberated people. As ridiculous as it was, they drank up his words quicker than the liquor. He had earned many an ally in this way, the three most prominent being Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert.

Even the common folk were quick to love the sunny warrior, and not just for the money they could earn from betting on him. His fights were always a delight to witness, his strength never before seen in a mere slave. His minor celebrity status earned him many a suitor, but other than the one drunken night with Gilbert, he refused each advance. His closer friends teased him for it, insisting that he had actually been charmed by Ivan, who he usually referred to as the "most gullible idiot I've ever met", though he insisted that he was always too tired.

The truth was that Alfred was not an overtly sexual being by nature. He got more excitement from fighting, from watching his enemies fall. Having been raped countless times from a young age, he grew numb to the pleasures that even consensual unions could bring. His desire to touch and kiss Ivan was an unexpected development, one which he regarded with suspicion. It wouldn't do well for him to be seduced by the man he was to be seducing, would it? Initially he'd believed the feelings had arose from the contentment that his plan was succeeding and nothing more, though he was smart enough to correct his faulty assumptions.

So what if he had some attachment to the man, even if he was extremely presumptuous of slaves and thought of Alfred as nothing more than an animal? He wouldn't let it change anything. In truth, he could use it to his advantage. According to Gilbert, with each visit Ivan asked more and more about the lives of the "freer" slaves. His sentiments were changing in their favor, it seemed.

His initial plan had been to just cause a complete ruckus in the palace. Many a night he spent dreaming in great detail about how best to humiliate and kill the royal family. He'd hope to incite chaos in the castle, bringing death and destruction to all, slave and noble alike. But, he found that he actually had a way with the people. They were drawn to his light, never knowing that the source of it was in truth a malicious hellfire and not a calm, soothing ember.

He was a patient man, and he was willing to wait for what he wanted. He could still bring about a fire in the city, but he could control it, make sure it burned only those he held in contempt. He had thought having allies would be a weakness, which is why he kept to himself for years. In reality, they were his strength, and he found himself fighting not only for himself, but for them as well. Of course, his main focus was his own agenda, but he was growing more comfortable with letting people in.

They didn't know exact details, his followers and allies, but they knew they'd follow him anywhere. He never directly spoke of revolution, but the sparks were already in place. His words would be all it took for them to catch, and the people would only help him fan the flames.

The months passed, and Ivan spoke frequently with Gilbert when at the Pits. His father had yet to return from the war front, as the Nordics were craftier than he'd initially suspected. He'd granted Ivan a bit of authority, and he was free to travel into town and visit with the people. They grew to like him and his generous smiles, even if they were slightly off-putting. True to his word, he'd hit a spurt in growth, and now he towered over all of his advisers. His seventeenth birthday had been celebrated with a momentous winter festival. Even slaves were given the day off to show their love for the kind prince. It hardly even seemed as if the kingdom was fighting a war only a few days away from the capitol.

Gilbert regularly passed notes between Alfred and Ivan, but the prince refused to meet with him face to face. The guard thought that this would upset Alfred, but the man only smiled, insisting that things would work out. With each week, Ivan grew more and more merciful toward the slaves, allowing most if not all to live when defeated. He'd even cracked down a bit some of the Pit's more common practices such as starving and whipping that would be considered inhumane if not enacted on slaves.

The day finally came for Alfred's last fight, and the stakes were high. Ivan had never seen the stadium so full, nor appreciated such a loud applause on entrance. He blushed, happy that the people truly seemed to like him. He hadn't wanted to make too much of a stir while his father was gone, but his many trips to the courthouses and banks seemed to make people respect him. His advisers were proud of his high approval rating, as was the king judging by his effervescent letters; once the king returned victorious, surely the kingdom would thrive and all doubts in the royal family would be expelled.

Refocusing on the battles before him, Ivan grew more and more nervous. He had no doubt that his Alfred would win, even if the "games master" as he was called had concocted a devious plot that would ensure the blond's defeat, as he'd proudly told the prince prior. More than the battle, he was anticipating what would happen afterwards. He'd made some special arrangements, very optimistic for what his reunion with Alfred would have in store.

Gilbert reclined beside him lazily, munching on some grapes while the arena was prepped for the finale. He was fully aware of the match details, but he wasn't worried for his friend. He wasn't even all that concerned about his opponents, as ever since the first fight, Alfred hadn't fought with the intent to kill. He had befriended everyone it seemed, and the three he would soon face were no exception.

Four men strolled onto the stage, one of them beaming at the crowd and waving. They chanted his name, none knowing just how significant this fight truly was for the slave. Each of his opponents was armed and armored well, while Alfred only had a light mail vest over simple cloth. At least they granted him a sturdy enough axe to defend himself with.

He scoffed. "Three men? Is that all? They've already had him fight four at once." Gates were opened and three large feline creatures sauntered to the sides of their masters. "What are those?"

"Sabre-tooth tigers, newly trained and very hungry. If you'd paid attention to any of the other fights you'd recognize the three men and their favorite pets."

He waved a hand, "The other slaves aren't important."

"Why is Alfred, then? Isn't he just a slave too?" Gilbert probed.

"He won't be for long," Ivan ignored the comment, not wishing to spew anything heretical. Gilbert smiled knowingly. As ever, Alfred was right about the prince's maturation. He wasn't convinced yet that he'd be a slave sympathizer anytime soon, but if anyone could sway the future king, it was Alfred.

The fight began, and it was a show. Alfred was quick to take down two of the tigers, but the alpha was posing problems. In addition, the men were not just commanding the animals but also attacking him in tandem. Ivan could barely keep up with his eyes, and yet Alfred fought them back with ease.

He received a vicious cut across his chest, the mail providing little defense. Ivan sat forward in his seat, able to see Alfred's pained face as he tried to catch his breath. He clenched his fist, tempted to call an end to it as the tiger advanced on the bloodied fighter.

He was quickly tackled to the ground, forced to wrestle the clawing beast. Eventually, they froze, and with a grunt Alfred hefted the thing off of him. Its throat was open, even though Alfred's only sharp weapon had been knocked away. Standing to his feet, the crowd gasped at his state.

He was breathing hard, his mouth wide open and casting droplets of blood to the ground with each exhale. His entire face was covered in blood and hair, and he truly looked more like an animal than the tigers had. With a roar, he charged toward the men, grabbing his dropped axe along the way. The fear in their eyes was plain as day, and the first was felled before he could even raise his sword.

The other two were quick to follow their teammate to their deaths, crying out as Alfred hacked away at them. Gilbert winced at the show of strength. He wasn't sure what had made his friend snap, but the result was not pretty in the slightest.

The cheers were deafening, and Alfred regarded the crowd proudly. His grin, had it not been coated in gore, would have shone brighter than the summer's sun. Ivan stood, waiting patiently for the crowd's cheers to die down so he could speak. Finally noticing, the chants faded. He cleared his throat.

"Alfred Jones, on behalf of the emperor, I congratulate you. You have survived one year of fights in the Pits, rising to the ranks of champion. As promised to you by my father, you have earned your freedom. From hence forth, your skills will defend this empire in battle. Your conscription to the royal guard will begin tomorrow. Do you accept?"

Alfred raised a hand to his head, saluting the prince as he'd seen many a soldier do. "Yes, my lord. I will be honored to exercise my freedom in service to you."

Ivan raised a brow at the words, as it was customary to pledge loyalty to the current ruling monarch. Blushing slightly and ignoring Gilbert's annoying chuckle, he nodded. "You are the first freed champion, but I am sure you will not be the last." He lowered his hand, allowing the crowd to cheer once more. They were ecstatic about the change, and he couldn't hold back his smile.

Alfred too looked jubilant, blowing kisses to his fans on his way out. Ivan nodded a goodbye to Gilbert, heading off toward his carriage. He knew one of his own guards would direct Alfred to his transport to the palace where the royal healers would see to the man's wounds. Alfred would be healed, bathed, fed, and prepared for his meeting with the prince. It was a kind gesture, and he smiled proudly at himself for his thoughtfulness.

His ride to the palace was dull, his aide going on and on about the fights. Once returned, he went straight to his rooms for a bath, startling some resting maids who were quick to assist him. The kitchen staff had already been alerted of the situation, so he relaxed, knowing that the food would be ready for Alfred's arrival.

After being cleaned, perfumed, and dressed, Ivan settled in his gardens, reading a hefty text by the light of the full moon.

"My lord," a man said behind him.

Ivan recognized the voice so didn't even turn. "Is he here?"

"Yes, though he has requested to dine in a bed," the man didn't seem so impressed by the presence of the slave-made-soldier, nor the concessions the prince was willing to make for him. He'd deemed the late visit improper and in poor taste previously, but had been ignored with an icy smile.

Ivan cursed. He'd been so focused on planning their perfect reunion that he forgot that Alfred might be tired. "Very well, settle him in my room and bring the food there. I will join him shortly."

"Sir, that is quite improper. I can't allow someone into your private quarters—" he swallowed thickly at the glare sent his way. "Very well, my prince, I will take care of him at once."

Ivan only gave himself a few minutes to compose his nerves, but by the time he arrived in his chambers, Alfred had already eaten everything laid on a tray before him and was asleep. He blinked, once, twice, then sighed.

The quiet sound was enough to startle the blond awake, and he shot upright. "Oh, hello your highness. Sorry for dozing off."

"It is not a problem, I didn't even think about how exhausted you must be. How is your wound?" Ivan set to clearing the dishes from around Alfred's lap, placing them near the door. He turned back to find that Alfred was shirtless, which triggered even more nervousness. He blushed, looking anywhere else but Alfred. Though the gash was covered with thick bandages, Alfred's physique was unmarred. Ivan groaned.

"What's wrong?"

Ivan didn't quite feel like admitting his belief that Alfred was a flawless specimen, so shrugged instead. He sure wasn't acting like a prince, he noted to himself. Nor did he even feel like one when around Alfred.

"Oh, I should give this to you," Alfred reached below the blanket, removing Ivan's favor from a pocket. "Told you I'd survive," his crooked grin was too charming for Ivan, who wanted nothing more than to devour the man before him.

Instead, he settled with a smaller taste, practically pouncing on Alfred's lap. His inexperienced lips met Alfred's quickly as he kissed him for a third time. What he lacked in skill he more than made up for with enthusiasm, and Alfred was at least quick to hum in approval, even running his hands over Ivan's body.

The blond pulled back, licking his lips while he stared up at the prince. "You've gotten taller, little master."

"I'm not your master, anymore," Ivan reminded him.

"Very true," Alfred seemed lost in thought, even though his eyes were focused on Ivan's lips. His calloused hands rested pleasantly on Ivan's thighs, warming him even through his clothes. Ivan's own hands, much softer in comparison, stroked at Alfred's shoulders. "Of course," he continued. "I did pledge myself to you, so I am bound in some ways."

"Does that mean you'll follow any order I give?"

He smiled. "Within reason, and only if it benefits me in some way."

"Sleep with me, Alfred. Please," Ivan looked away bashfully. Alfred chuckled.

"It would be my honor, my prince."

"You can call me Ivan. If we are about to do this, I'd like for it to be as equals."

"Very well, Ivan," Alfred said. He inched forward, reconnecting their lips.

Ivan delighted in every moment, noting every turn of their heads and every playful nip. He always knew where Alfred's hands were, and while he didn't quite know what to do with his own, he eventually just followed Alfred's example and let them roam freely, being sure not to bump Alfred's wound.

He was so lost in the details that he lost sight of the bigger picture. He wasn't sure how long they sat there kissing heatedly, but he found himself growing excited just from the embrace alone. He was young and didn't think his hormones would allow him to last as long as he was sure Alfred could. Several seconds passed and nothing was on his lips, so he opened his eyes. He was surprised to find himself staring up at his ceiling, laid on his back with care.

"Alfred?" he shivered, his now bare chest—when had that happened?—no longer covered by Alfred's warmth.

The man returned quickly, sitting at Ivan's side. "Sorry, I was looking for a cream of sorts to make this easier," he held up a small vial, one that Ivan had placed on his bedside table. "I'm assuming this is what I'm looking for?"

"Yes."

"Presumptuous little guy, aren't you?" Alfred smirked, taking the time to admire Ivan's body. The boy had grown in the last year, even filling out some in musculature. Ivan blushed, thanking his recent interest in fencing for preparing him.

"Stop calling me little."

"I can't, you're just too cute."

Ivan rolled his eyes. This man sure had a lot of nerve, it seemed. Had any other slave spoken like that to him, he'd have them beaten. But, Alfred wasn't just any slave, hell, he wasn't even a slave anymore. Still, it was refreshing the way Alfred treated him. He didn't tiptoe around him anymore, was far from shy or reserved as he'd been in the beginning. Now that he thought about it, perhaps all that was just an act? It certainly worked, as Ivan had been charmed. Yet he was liking the bold and controlling Alfred just as much, maybe even more so.

He cried out in pain, surprised when Alfred's fingers found themselves in a rather private position.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Well, my lovely and virginal prince, I'm helping you so that you don't get hurt," Alfred said, smiling while hovering over Ivan's exposed body.

"When did you even get my clothes off? What are you—" he winced when a second finger was added. "I am a prince!" he panted. "This is not a dignified position for—"

Alfred effectively shut him up with a kiss, working his fingers masterfully till Ivan's groans evolved into pleasurable moans.

"I… I should be in charge here. I came onto you, first," Ivan managed to complete his sentence, albeit with a few sighs.

"You'd probably hurt us both somehow. I'm the one who knows what he's doing, so just relax and let me take care of you. You should be used to that at least," there was a hint of bitterness, but Ivan didn't notice it.

A few minutes and another finger later, Alfred deemed Ivan ready and positioned himself appropriately. With a muted groan, he entered Ivan fully, the prince only crying out once. Alfred gave him time to adjust, a nicety he had never been granted. With a weak nod, Ivan gave him permission to move, and he did with fervor.

The quick pace and his youth had Ivan at his limit quickly, but Alfred was relentless. Spent but still enjoying the sensation of being filled, Ivan was quick to grow aroused again, coming for a second time as Alfred came for the first.

Panting slightly, Alfred removed himself from the tiring prince who seemed content to just lie in bed for the rest of his days. He chuckled and rose to collect a rag for cleaning, returning in moments. He rubbed the fluids from both of their bodies, taking extra care around Ivan's more sensitive areas.

"Sorry if it was a little rough for your first time."

"Hm?" Ivan's voice had a dreamy quality about it. "Oh, it's no bother. Is it always so intense?"

He smiled. "Sometimes. Ideally, I suppose it should be. It can be softer, of course, and there's other ways of going about it. But, I'll admit I was a bit tired from my fight and didn't take the time I could have."

"I'm sure there'll be time for other things in the future. Why are you standing there?" Ivan's hand lazily pet the bed. "You should sleep."

"You want me to stay?" Ivan nodded. "Very well." Crawling into bed, he pulled the covers over them, trapping the heat between them. "You do realize a future with me isn't much of a possibility."

Ivan pouted. "What do you mean?"

"Even if I'm not a slave, I start my training tomorrow. If I don't die in battle, I'm sure your father will keep us apart. It's possible I'll never see you again."

Ivan scooted over, nestling his head on Alfred's shoulder. "Don't say such things. I said I would have you, and I will. I don't just want your body, you know. There's something about you. You're different from the other slaves."

"What's wrong with the other slaves?" Alfred sounded offended.

"Well, they're slaves of course. They don't think as you and I do," Ivan responded, though even he could hear his insecurity in the truth of that statement.

"Do you really think that? Do you think it's okay then for me to have been treated as I was?"

"Of course not! That was wrong!"

"But if it were another slave?"

"Well…" Ivan looked away, his wavering confidence in the current system leaving him entirely. "I don't know. It's complicated. You're complicated."

"I am a simple man, truly. But this does not make me less of a man than anyone else. Any person can be as smart or strong as a Russian, blood makes no difference."

Ivan's brow furrowed. "I don't know. That can't be true…"

"People make mistakes. Entire dynasties can be faulty, even."

"But… that means that we… that I..." He didn't wish to finish the thought that had been pervading his head for months, too afraid to voice it aloud.

Alfred nodded as if understanding the unspoken words. "You're right. But it's not your fault. This is the way things are."

"Surely it can change! It's not fair! I was raised to treat animals better than slaves. Whenever you killed a beast I felt more sympathy for it than for other fighters who were killed!"

Alfred was surprised by the sudden enthusiasm and change of heart. It seemed Ivan had grown in more ways than one. "You are already a kind and merciful ruler, my lord. You will make a great emperor."

"Do you think… could I change things when I'm in charge? My father wouldn't allow it now… but who would listen to me? I can't just call for emancipation so easily, there would be a revolt!"

Alfred nodded again. "This is true, it would be hard. Perhaps the people are not ready," he sighed sadly. "Though it would be a beautiful world to live in, one where people worked for their own fulfillment and potential advancement. The beatings and rapes were bad, of course," Ivan winced at the observation, unconsciously clutching tighter to Alfred's arm. "But the worst part was knowing that things wouldn't change. That no matter how hard I worked, I'd always be below someone. Becoming a soldier is an amazing opportunity that none else have been granted. I'm happy to be an exception, but my heart is saddened by the many others who aren't so lucky."

Ivan had never seen such a pitiable look, and he was briefly reminded of a stray dog he used to feed when young, begging for scraps but even more desperate for affection. Even though he was past thinking of Alfred as helpless, the likeness still stood out to him. Poor Alfred, he thought to himself, nobler than Ivan's own family! Even while he was favorably situated, he thought of others first. If he didn't desire Alfred to warm his bed every night, he'd recommend him to the church for sainthood.

"You have a beautiful heart, and I know now that slaves are no different from myself. I will help your people somehow. For too long they have been unjustly imprisoned and punished."

"Thank you, Ivan. I wish you the best of luck. Yours will be a hard path."

"It will be worth it to see you happy and by my side."

Alfred shook his head. "Even if you succeed, a soldier couldn't be with a prince. It is not the way things are done."

"Damn the way things are done! When I am emperor, I will make these changes."

"You are very passionate for one so young."

"Quit talking as if you're older than me," he smiled.

"Very well. There will of course be the problem of your engagement. And, should I meet with success on the battlefield, a marriage will be arranged for me as well."

"I won't marry anyone else, not when you have my heart. You have every right to claim me as yours, as you're the only one who's had me."

"I'm not sure those rules apply to nobles," he laughed. "Your commitment to me is inspiring. And yet, you hardly know me. How do you know you can trust me? Perhaps I'm just a very deceptive slave, hoping to win himself the throne," he probed.

"No, you are kind and honest. You are a good man."

If Alfred could feel guilt, he would have in that moment. "You are a naïve little optimist, but I suppose it's not a bad thing. We should get some sleep."

Ivan nodded. "Alright. Good night, Alfred." He craned his neck to place a chaste kiss. "I love you."

In a few minutes, the prince was snoring softly, obviously worn out from their activities. Alfred sighed, his face regaining its more typical expression of neutrality. Ivan was making great strides, and he would surely prove to play an intriguing part in Alfred's upcoming scheme. This would change things, he knew, though only for the better.

Alfred didn't give a damn about the other slaves besides his friends. Sure, he preached of his "dreams" to those in the Pits, and did they ever buy into those wonderful lies. He was aware that their lots in life were unfair, but he'd never lost sleep over it. He was the center of his universe, and he acted accordingly. If others couldn't rise, then they were weak and deserved to be stepped on. Slavery to him was a necessary evil, though of course with him in charge, he'd ensure the Russians got a taste of their own medicine. He smiled, imagining the king serving him wine while bound, being beaten before his eyes.

How would Ivan react, he thought? He hadn't seemed to mind Alfred's "newfound" confidence, nor did he comment on the change. That was good, right? But, no man would stand to see their lover having their family whipped and home burned. Even if the two fought, he knew Ivan and the emperor's relationship was more of a rivalry, born from high expectations rather than spite.

Did he care if he hurt Ivan by taking out his father? Perhaps, but only a little bit. He needed Ivan to trust in him, to follow him blindly. So, the only solution he could see was to convince Ivan of the man's cruelty. Ivan himself would be the one to kill the Emperor, and all Alfred would have to do is hand him the knife, whispering sweet words of encouragement and deception in his ear.

Ivan was wrong about him, that was for sure. Alfred was not a good man. He didn't believe anyone was good or bad. Noble, commoner, or slave, they were all existing on a spectrum of goodness, fluctuating with each thought and action. He'd been born into a world that deemed him a loser, all by chance, but he still could not say that slavery was wrong. Had he been born a favored race, he knew that he'd stop at nothing to preserve things. Anything to help him stay on top was good in his eyes, even if evil to an outsider. If Ivan wanted to be weak, to sympathize with the slaves, then so be it. It would only serve to elevate Alfred anyway.

The warmth at his side was a comfort, and he found himself drifting to sleep quickly. For once his dreams were rather pleasant, filled with flowers and Ivan's loving smile and happy meals in meadows.

He woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth, hating Ivan slightly for taking his dreams from him, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan wished the morning would never end, so taken was he with Alfred's affections. Upon waking, he was immediately assaulted with fevered kisses and delightful touches. He had to turn away his knocking attendant three times before Alfred even let him leave the bed, and that hardly marked the end of their session, apparently.

So it was that he left his room hours after waking, sore in places that made him blush and ushered by an annoyed man to his bath. He was cleaned and dressed, forced to don a high-necked robe to hide several love bites. When he returned to his room, Alfred was also dressed, though he wore a much simpler tunic than Ivan.

The prince stood behind Alfred, wrapping his arms around his shoulders protectively. With his height advantage, he was able to nuzzle his cheek in Alfred's hair without bending his back.

"I have to leave soon, my lord."

"Don't call me that," he pouted. Remembering how well Alfred took to orders, he added a quick "please."

"I'm sorry, Ivan, but my transport will be here soon. Even you can't defy an order from the emperor."

He huffed. "I can do whatever I want." He loosened his arms. "Except refuse my father, of course. I suppose if I kept you he'd find a way to have you killed. When will you be back?"

"When this war is over," he glanced up, giving a soft smile. "Don't look so glum, once I'm there everything will be in our favor. I am the champion, after all."

Ivan didn't return the smile. "Winning a number of skirmishes with untrained men is not the same as joining the battlefield. Even the best can be felled by a wayward arrow or a lucky swordsman."

"I'll be careful. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if your father just had me there as a sort of… prize. He's still set on having me be an inspiration for slaves to be loyal to him."

"If he touches you—"

"Don't make things more difficult for yourself. You'll be days away from us, there's nothing you can do."

"What if he puts you on the front lines just to hurt me?"

Alfred shrugged. "Then I will die, and you will live on. It is life."

"How can you say that? Do you not value your life?"

Oh, he valued his life more than the whole cosmos, he thought. "I was taught to think of myself as less than garbage, it is a hard habit to break."

"I understand. You don't let others in because you don't know how." Ivan pitied him for this, though not because of his race as he had before. He pitied him his horrible and abuse-filled childhood. It wasn't right that he be ripped from his home and family and tortured to this odd shell of what he could have been. "I love you, you know."

Alfred nodded, looking away as if suddenly shy. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. How overtly sentimental could one be? He knew nothing of Alfred, he didn't even bother to ask him his feelings, merely preaching on and on about his own moral dilemmas.

"You do not love me?" Ivan asked, already knowing the answer.

Instead of giving the "hell no" he wanted to, Alfred only shrugged.

"Do you know how to love?"

Babies know how to love, he thought, he wasn't a complete social recluse. Ivan took his extended silence as a negative reply, so he pulled the other close again.

"It is no matter, I shall fix you. But, please don't mistake this for me thinking you less. I know now how wrong it was that you be singled out to enter a life of servitude, but you are different from a free man because of it. Years of training will have done that to you, of course. But, already you seem happier. You are much less shy than you were when you first came to the palace, and the Pits have made you confident. Surely you too see your own worth? That you can stand beside any man as an equal?"

There was a knock, and the door opened before Alfred could reply. Toris stood, blushing at the too-close figures.

"Your highness, Alfred's presence is required in the yard. And Lord Edelstein is enquiring as to your lateness for your music lessons."

"Tell him that I'll be there after I break my fast." Toris didn't care to mention that lunch was already being served. "Alfred will be there shortly." With a quick bow, Toris scurried away to deliver the messages.

Alfred chuckled, choosing to ignore the unanswered question. "You're going to scare that man to death. He's always so nervous."

"No, we are friends. He has been working with my family for a long time." He sighed. "Well, I suppose I should let you go. Do you still have my favor?"

"Of course," he dangled the medal between them. "And I'll return it to you along with enough war trophies to fill even this huge castle."

"I'm glad you're so confident." He leaned down and connected their lips, a night full of kisses having helped him improve on his previously poor technique. "I… I understand if my father makes you do anything that you will have no choice. But other than him, no one else has any claim over you, do you understand?"

"I'll be on the battlefield, I doubt I'll have time for such things." Alfred noted Ivan's frown and changed his next words. "But of course I wouldn't have another when you're waiting for me."

Ivan smiled.

"But, as a prince, you may take anyone, you know. I don't mind it."

"How can you say that?" he clenched Alfred's shoulders tightly. If it were a weaker man he may have seriously injured him. "I love you, Alfred, and there will never be another for me. Even if you die, I will not marry, I will not lay with another! My heart belongs to you, and thus with you it will remain, far from me for who knows how long!"

Alfred blushed, even internally. Geez, he thought, this guy sure has been hitting the poetry books. "Well, just know that if you change your mind, I will not mind it."

"You don't trust my words?" Ivan seemed hurt. Alfred figured he had a defiant and competitive side, so he shook his head, knowing what the next reaction would be.

"I swear on my life, Alfred, that my love for you will burn till the end of time. Even the thought of looking at another person with lust makes my stomach churn. You may not believe me, you may not love me, but I am serious. In my eyes, you are second to none. I will continue loving you, even from afar, so that you may come to love yourself as dearly." He crashed his lips forward, capturing Alfred's in a passionate kiss that left the soldier breathless for a few moments.

"I…" Sure, he was expecting a bold proclamation, but he wasn't expecting to actually be inspired so as to believe it.

"What is it you fear, my love?"

He knew he couldn't very well say, "dying without having brought this empire asunder", so he just gave a shrug.

"Well, I'm sure you have other things on your mind since you'll be fighting in a few days' time, but if you ever fear my loyalty, don't. You may think that I'm only doing this as some passing fancy, that with time I'll grow bored of you and choose another. Perhaps even think that I wish to 'break' you as others purport to have done. But I am genuine in my love, and it is eternal. I would never turn my back on you."

That was probably a good idea, Alfred thought, seeing as knives were easier to avoid when facing one's assailant. "I understand and accept your words. I will not doubt you. In my experience, a loyal lord is not too common, so I hope you forgive me my hesitance."

Ivan brought the others head to his chest, cooing slightly as he rubbed his back. "Of course, all is forgiven. It was hardly a slight on your part, anyway. Now, before I am too tempted, you must get going. Do you know how to get to the yard?"

"Yes, Ivan." The prince nodded and reluctantly released his lover, who bestowed upon him a chaste kiss and a smile, so unlike the cocky grin he bore in the Pits but so endearing. It was a sight Ivan would need to remember for as long as they were parted, along with their intimate activities. Ivan's brows furrowed, finally noticing something. "Alfred?" he stopped the soldier.

He merely turned back and raised a brow in question.

"Come dine with me. Surely they can wait a few more minutes, you are much too thin. How much did they feed you at the Pits?"

"Not much," he admitted. He certainly was hungry as they had neglected to have breakfast. He tended to always be hungry, his bulk requiring much more sustenance than the others. He was broadened by years of labor and then a year of fights, yet was emaciated all the same, having little to no fat at all.

Ivan walked past him, leading him to the dining room. "Well, I'll make sure they feed you well on the front line. Yao is there with his army, and he's always very good at ensuring there's enough food to go around."

"Thank you, Ivan," Alfred smiled, a genuine grin that made Ivan look away before he could suggest they return to the bedroom.

Within minutes they were seated next to each other. Due to the hour, Ivan's sisters weren't present, nor were most of the advisers. Many were probably holding lessons for his sisters and cousins, and some were with his father helping in the war effort. So, the pair were alone for their meal, much to Ivan's satisfaction.

Aside from the dinner the previous night, Alfred had never had such fine foods. As with that meal, he ate voraciously, keeping up an impressive speed of consumption. Ivan, instead of being disgusted, was quite fascinated by the show, himself never having known hunger.

Alfred leaned back in his chair, sighing contentedly after a third plate. The servers weren't as amused with the numerous trips they had to make to satisfy him, bearing trays of meats and desserts. Ivan smiled, not having finished his own first plate.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked with a smile.

Alfred shrugged. "I'm still kind of hungry, but I know if I eat too much, I'll just lose it all later. I'm not used to such fine foods. I'll admit, my stomach feels a bit off from last night, as I know I overindulged on the dinner."

Ivan hummed, collecting a forkful of his steak and bringing it to Alfred's mouth. Almost absentmindedly, he opened, accepting the offering and swallowing. The prince was quick to keep introducing him to some of the delights he hadn't yet tried. "I too was a bit overindulged last night, but of course that's all your fault," he smirked slightly, actually earning a blush from his lover.

Alfred cursed himself. He felt almost crippled by the amazing food Ivan was bestowing on him. The damnable man had found his weakness. "What happened to my lovely, blushing virgin?"

At least Ivan blushed at that comment, though he didn't falter in feeding Alfred. "Which food is your favorite?" he asked, changing the topic.

"I like this meat, it's very good, oddly sweet. I was friends with the chef in the Pits, Francis always tried to sneak me extra food. He was worried about my nutrition just as you are. He was much more limited in terms of flavoring, however. So while his cooking was good, his allotment of spices left little room for creativity. It all kind of tasted the same. Every little thing here is so different from the other. It's amazing. Oh, and that little fruit thing last night was great, though it made me sleepy. Even these drinks are interesting!" he sipped at his white wine. "I've only had wine once before, and I was much too young for it, really. The owners of the Pits are German, so we only ever had beer in the evenings."

Ivan blinked for a moment, trying to remember a time when Alfred had been so talkative, seeming so genuine. He smiled, continuing his onslaught of delicious food while he talked. "I wish I could keep you here indefinitely. This meal is nowhere near extravagant enough, in my opinion. I'd have you sufficiently fattened up if I could. Having you on top of me made me aware of how thin you are. I just know Yao will be spoiling you out there, it's not fair," he pouted, accidentally missing Alfred's mouth slightly and getting a creamy sauce on his cheek. He reddened, the sight reminding him of one from the previous night. As with before, Alfred lapped it up hungrily with his tongue.

"Are you jealous of Yao, my prince? And Francis?"

Ivan crossed his arms, ending his fork's assault on Alfred's lips.

Alfred laughed, patting Ivan's knee affectionately. "Don't worry about it, Ivan. It's not as if I sleep with anyone who feeds me." That had only happened a handful of times when Francis had concocted some amazing meals, and they hadn't _slept_ together, he mentally defended. He had just shown his appreciation in other ways. He opened his mouth expectantly. With a sigh, Ivan scooped up some buttered potatoes and brought them to Alfred's waiting mouth.

Alfred hummed, chewing the food thoughtfully. He swallowed, smirking up at Ivan, who for a moment seemed slightly fearful.

"Wha—?" he began before Alfred began stroking his member. He groaned. "Alfred, we've already done so much just this morning, I don't know if I can—"

Alfred shushed him by getting to his knees in front of his chair, immediately opening Ivan's robe to expose his lower half. "I'm still a bit hungry," he reasoned, his tongue already finding its proper place at the head. Ivan shuddered, first from the exposure to the slight chill of the castle, and then at the soft touch. At that moment, a server walked in bearing another tray of pastries, though he was immediately waved away by Ivan. Luckily the table was blocking what was going on below his waist; he'd be mortified if anyone walked in and saw this.

It only took a few minutes for Ivan to come undone, his stamina still that of a teenager, of course. Alfred happily took in all of his impromptu dessert, helping Ivan cover himself and then returning to his seat. He once again set to devouring everything in front of him.

"You have a very talented mouth," Ivan observed.

"I enjoy eating a lot, actually," he smiled.

"I've noticed. Well, I could, er, return the favor, if you'd like?" he hoped Alfred would say yes. He'd also brought it up that morning, but Alfred had refused, saying he didn't want to "degrade" the prince in that way, not even noting the irony in that. He had already figured out that Alfred didn't like giving up control in bed, though he could clearly see why given his upbringing.

As expected, Alfred shook his head. "Don't worry about that, it's not for you to do."

"Then why do you get to do it?"

He shrugged. "I like to do it. I like to please you. It's so cute to see your faces!"

"Shut up," Ivan almost tripped over the words. "Well, perhaps I'd enjoy it too! I know I wouldn't know much what to do, but I'd be careful. I'm sure I couldn't compare to your other lovers, but I'd try my best because I love you."

Alfred laughed, causing Ivan to glare. "Sorry, I don't doubt your enthusiasm. I just think it's funny that you think my old masters would have even bothered to do that for me."

"Oh," Ivan said at his mistake. "I'm sorry. But, surely there were others, those you cared about who—"

Temporarily ignoring the existence of Gilbert, Francis, Matthew, and Mathias, Alfred shook his head.

"Then I can be your first?" If he had a tail, Alfred was sure Ivan's would be wagging.

"How about next time, alright?" he smiled. "I really should be going. If I'm too late, your father may be angry." Alfred stood, holding his hand out to Ivan.

"Alright, I didn't really finish eating, so I'll just stay here," he leaned forward, kissing Alfred softly. "I'll miss you."

"I know," he grinned cockily. Ivan pouted, and he chuckled. "Okay, I'll miss you too." Surprisingly, he meant it. Ivan's doting was much kinder than any he'd received before, mainly because it involved food. In Alfred's case, the idiom was true: the quickest way to his heart was indeed through his stomach. With one last kiss, they parted, Alfred showing himself to the door. Ivan sat down, his heart heavy at the loss, and started crying over his plate, fearful for what horrors Alfred would be forced to endure at his father's hand.

.

* * *

"Three cheers for Alfred!" an inebriated soldier yelled over the mess hall.

"Here here!" another repeated. The hall broke into a symphony of praise for the brilliant soldier.

Alfred laughed, threw back his beer, and slammed the empty mug on the table. "Now, this victory was only the first of many! We can't celebrate so much every time, can we? There isn't enough ale in the world for it!"

"Ah, but we must!" a pale man beside him insisted. "It was a spectacular win for your first campaign as Captain Alfred."

"A win for my whole squadron, not just me," he smiled.

The man scoffed. "Well, your quick wits allowed us to forever secure Petrograd, giving us access to the sea. The Nordic army has never been pushed back so far! The General will praise you even more than the rest of us when you tell him all that happened!" He sighed over his own drink. "Even though my title of Lieutenant is more for show than anything, I fear you'll soon surpass me!"

"Aw, don't be so glum, Yao! Drink and be merry! Petrograd is ours! Tomorrow we fight again, pushing back the Nordic scum from our lands!"

He smiled. "You're right! Fuck the Northern savages!" he raised his glass and his voice. "For Russia! For the Tsar!"

"For Russia!" the room chorused. "For the Tsar!"

Said Tsar entered the massive tent at that moment, waving at his soldiers. Looking weary from a day of defending his fort-turned-city, he still had the energy to smile.

"And thank you to all of my brave soldiers," he said when the room quieted down. "I have been a soldier for all my life, as you know, and I have fought many battles. But, I've never seen a strategy as ingenious as the one Alfred proposed. I was hesitant at first, too proud to admit that someone so green could be smarter than me," he chuckled. "But, we saw today that our Captain deserves his title and more should his plans continue to succeed."

"Thank you, General." The man nodded, beckoning Alfred to follow him from the tent. Alfred grabbed another slice of black bread and said goodbye to his friends before skipping after his lord. They walked silently to the General's private tent, then got down to business.

Peter furrowed his brows at the new plan Alfred quickly drew up on the map. "You think this will work?"

"I guarantee it."

"I don't know…"

He laughed. "You said that last time, Peter. Have I ever led you astray?"

He grinned. "I suppose you're right. I'm sorry, I'm still just as hard-headed as my father, sometimes. So, do you wish to lead this expedition?"

"I'd be honored."

"And who do you want to bring with you?"

"My same squadron if possible, plus Kiku and whoever he selects."

"Kiku?" he raised a brow. "I thought you two hated each other."

"We work well together, despite our differences. Plus, he's smart and resourceful. We may need that."

Peter nodded. "Very well. You will depart in two days."

"We should leave tomorrow. It will surprise the enemy."

He sighed. "Can't you take a break, Alfred?" he smiled. "The young have too much energy."

"And the old too little," he smiled back. "I'm fine, I swear. In fact, as soon as we're done here, I'll personally hunt down all of my men and escort them to their beds so that they're in good enough shape as well."

"If you think it's best, I won't disagree."

"Thank you. You know," he mused. "You really should divulge more stuff to your council. Yao's feeling left out."

He grunted. "I don't trust Yao."

Alfred's eyes widened. "What?" he whispered, leaning forward. "Sir, you can't say that so lightly!"

"I'm quiet enough, he won't hear through the tent."

"Do you suspect him of… something?"

"I have for some time. Him and Kiku… I think they're plotting against me. It wasn't until you came that we had luck with the war, you know. I think they'd been sabotaging me, having soldiers bumble missions and reveal our positions to the enemy!"

"Why would they do that?"

"For the throne, of course. They either hope I'll die in these battles or we'll retreat in shame to the capital. Then he'd easily overthrow me. But, since you've become a leader, their influence is less pronounced, and we have victories. You're the only one I can trust."

"Sir, I…"

"I've told you many times to call me Peter in private," he smiled. "You and I are close, aren't we? While I regret the circumstances of our meeting, I'd say we have a professional relationship now, or perhaps a friendship."

"Of course, Peter."

"Good. Otherwise it would be odd for my next request."

"Request, sir?"

"After this war, would you consider taking a permanent seat on my war council, acting as Lieutenant over the army?"

Alfred blinked, mouth agape. "Peter, that's a big request. I've been here for only a year, and I was just a slave. Some people would question—"

"And what of them? All the men love you, you know. They fight for me, yes, but also for you. This is what you deserve, Alfred. You're a masterful tactician, an unstoppable force on the battlefield, and a trustworthy ally. It makes perfect sense."

"Well, if you insist, I'd be honored, Peter."

"I'm glad." He clapped the young man on the back. "You're gonna do great things someday, Alfred. You're like the son I never had."

Alfred swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, passing off the uncomfortable expression as humility. "Thank you."

"Alright, before I get more sentimental, run along. Go tell your men the news. Leave at dawn."

"Yes sir!" he said brightly before leaving the tent. He followed his instructions, dragging more than a few passed out men to the nearest bunk, not minding much whether they were even theirs. He retreated to his own tent—made private after his promotion—raising a brow at his guest.

"I was wondering where you ran off to," he said. "We missed you at the party." Alfred stripped himself of his shirt.

"I do not party," he replied. "Besides, don't we have a mission tomorrow?"

"We do."

"Is Peter allowing me to join you?"

Alfred fiddled with the button on his pants, then, deciding to keep them on, hopped onto his pallet. Kiku glared at him. "He is. He thought the request was a bit odd. You really shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Kiku asked. He ran a delicate hand over Alfred's chest, trailing slowly toward his waistband.

"Because," he began, ignoring any sense of arousal. "He suspects you and Yao."

"You said this would happen."

"I'm surprised you idiots hadn't been hung earlier," he rolled his eyes. "You were much too obvious."

"You've told us as much a dozen times before, Alfred. It's not a problem is it?"

"Of course not. In fact, now that he trusts me, it's perfect. He wants me on his council after the war ends."

"Oh, that's unexpected." Kiku's hands were on Alfred's pants.

He shrugged, lifting his hips so Kiku could remove the rest of his clothes. "Maybe for you. This will work better I think."

Kiku hummed, taking Alfred's member in hand before giving it a long stroke.

Alfred continued speaking. "Make it quick. You shouldn't be here too much longer."

"Whatever you say, Alfred."

The next morning, Alfred roused his men and donned his armor. Saddling his horse, Kiku walked up next to him.

"Good morning, Captain," he said.

"Hello. Are you ready?"

"Yes. My men and I are prepared."

"Excellent. I'll meet you at the gates soon."

Once ready, he commanded his horse to trot the rest of the way. His men were there, patiently waiting for their fearless leader. With a nod, he led them out of the city, northward into enemy territory.

They kept a quick pace for a day and half, taking short breaks to water their horses and rest when necessary. Finally, they caught sight of their retreating enemies by way of a fire in the distance. Despite the dark, they continued their journey, themselves not casting any light or signals. The loud, wild animals helped with their cover, and near the perimeter, they tied up their horses. Their archers made quick and silent work of the standing guards, and then they swarmed.

The battle was over in under an hour, and the huddled soldiers were bound and led away. After taking whatever supplies they could scavenge, Alfred and Kiku met back up with their men.

"Captain!" one of them said.

"Proceed."

"We lost three men, and have captured thirty. This is the last of the stragglers, sir. They were all present for the siege and fled. No one escaped that we saw."

He stared over the men. "Abandoning your posts at Petrograd, how shameful. After I felled your general, things got a little chaotic for you, so I suppose I can't blame you too much," Alfred smiled. "Who among you is in charge?"

"I am," an older man spoke up.

Alfred withdrew his sword, pointing it at the kneeling man's neck. "Pick one of your men."

"What?" he gasped.

"Pick one," he repeated.

The man stammered for a few seconds, eyeing the glistening metal before him. Finally, he gestured toward a younger man who was trembling under Kiku's watchful gaze. Alfred pulled his sword back and strolled toward the other man.

"Today's your lucky day," he laughed, raising his sword high above his head. The man screamed as Alfred lowered the blade, even as he felt it land with a thud beside him. He opened his eyes to see his bindings cut.

"What…"

Alfred returned to the leader of the unit. "Very kind of you to pick the youngest, I'm sure he'll be thankful someday." Lunging forward, he stuck the sword through to the man's back.

In a matter of minutes, he methodically killed each man, all but the freed one. He hummed a song while he did it, not minding the screaming and begging. Even some of his own men were a bit uncomfortable at seeing him so ruthless to bound captives. Finally, he stood before the lone survivor.

"Get up," he ordered. The man complied. "How far is your capital?"

He shook his head.

"Don't be an idiot. We already know it takes four days from Petrograd. I'll give you food for two and one horse."

"But… why?"

"To warn the others, of course," he smirked. "Your last messenger told them of your loss at the city, but you must tell them that we are more than capable of and willing to expand our territory northward. This battle and the last just weren't any fun. I want a bit more of a challenge before we burn your city to the ground."

"We will not fall!" his words were defiant, though his hands were still shaking.

Alfred laughed easily. "Such an optimist. Anyway, tell your leaders exactly what's coming for them, alright? And you may want to prepare some extinguishing precautions, just in case you do fall."

The man was shoved backward by Kiku, pushed toward the weakest of the remaining horses. The animal was already equipped with a small satchel containing a few provisions, but nothing else. They saw the man off and then left the bodies behind, some of them still gasping for breath in their final moments before bleeding out.

"Captain," Kiku was beside Alfred on their ride back home. "I thought our mission was to secure information."

"There was a change in plan. None of those men were going to tell us anything useful. Besides, I'm impatient to get back to Yao's cooking, aren't you? We need to build up our strength before we begin our siege, don't we?"

"Hostages during the siege would have been good for negotiations."

He laughed. "Oh, Kiku, you should know by now that I don't negotiate."

The smaller man remained silent, falling back to his assigned position in the rear. For the next few days, they rode on, forced to stop more frequently given the number of older horses they had and the increased amount of food and weapons.

Upon their return, they weren't greeted by Peter as he had expected. Instead, Yao came to them and beckoned them toward the mess hall, not even asking about the success of the mission. Only Alfred and Kiku were allowed to enter, leaving the other men to sort through their new possessions. After placing another man in charge for the menial task, Alfred entered the tent, holding up the flap for Kiku and Yao to walk in after him.

"Alfred, Kiku!" Peter was in a jubilant mood. "Another successful mission I assume?"

Alfred stared for a moment at the man next to Peter. He was speechless, then realized that his superior had asked him a question. "Yes, sir. We commandeered ample supplies as well as horses."

"And men?"

"None, sir."

Ivan chuckled next to his father. "Did the Captain run in to a bit of trouble? Why are only you covered in blood?"

He smirked. "The men weren't worth keeping as hostages, my lord. I decided it would be best if we ended their suffering. Too many mouths to feed, I thought."

"Ah," Peter began. "I suppose that's all good and well. Ivan, aren't you happy to see your little slave doing so well?"

"He certainly has exceeded even your expectations, I believe," Ivan said. His words flowed easily; gone it seemed was the awkward boy Alfred had last seen the year previous. "My father just praises you incessantly in his letters."

"Enough gossip," Peter barked. "Now, since everyone of import is here, I have an announcement."

Ivan paused at sipping his drink. "Please do tell. What exactly is so important that you couldn't include in a letter and made me come all the way up here for?"

"Yes, well, I predict that this war will be over in a few months, would you agree Alfred?"

"Yes, sir."

"And Ivan, you've been doing an exemplary job in Muscovy without me."

"Thank you, father."

"I think it's high time you have a kingdom of your own. Upon your return, you will begin preparations. When my army marches home victorious, the parade will coincide with your wedding."

"Father, I—"

"No objections. You will marry Natalya, and you two will rule over Minsk in the south. It's close enough to the capital that I can keep an eye on you but you can still follow your own path. It'll be perfect preparation for when you are the Tsar."

"So, this is you naming me as your successor, officially?"

"Conditionally. If you want to be the Tsar, you must yourself produce an heir. Only then will I name you to the masses."

"Then why this assembly?" Ivan gestured toward their three guests. "I think a letter would've sufficed."

"Witnesses, my boy, in case you try to back out of our agreement. Do you consent to this?"

"I do not wish to marry my sister, I never have."

"You will not defy me in this! There is nothing wrong with marrying her, it will keep the bloodline pure."

"At the risk of producing an abomination!"

He shrugged. "Then put it out of its misery and make another. It's not hard. Besides, your sister has been groomed to be a perfect queen. She positively adores you. She will be a loyal Tsarina, unlike others that we've had in the past."

Ivan sighed. "Fine," he spat.

"I look forward to your wedding," he smiled. "Alfred will see to it that it happens sooner rather than later."

"Of course, my lord," he bowed slightly.

"No need to be so formal just because Ivan's here! As my newest adviser, live a little. Come," he waved Alfred over to their table. "Join us for some food and drink. You can tell Ivan all about your year here. I'm sure you can give more harrowing accounts of your battles than I." He turned to Kiku and Yao. "You two are excused. I'll see you at tomorrow's meeting."

Alfred sat across from Ivan who was staring rigidly at his food. Peter handed Alfred a plate and heaped piles of food on it before handing him a full chalice of liquor.

"Ivan, quit being such a downer. Why, your life as a bachelor is coming to an end! You should enjoy your remaining nights of freedom. And what better way than with your old friend Alfred?"

"Father," Ivan blushed.

"I said I'd give him to you, didn't I? I'm nothing if not a man of my word." He stood, grabbing his cup before walking to the door. "I'll give you two some time to catch up."

They sat for a few minutes in silence before Ivan spoke. "You can eat, I'm sure you must be hungry."

Alfred laughed, "You have no idea." He dug into his food, and the tense air disappeared. Still, Ivan was visibly upset with the announcement, so he wasn't feeling very talkative. He merely listened as Alfred told him about his year, about his training, his rise through the ranks, his campaigns and successful plans. Ivan was thoroughly impressed, and he expressed this, saying that Peter was wise to choose him as an adviser.

After finishing his food, Alfred stood. He held out his hand to Ivan, mirroring his pose from their last meeting. "Talk a walk with me?"

And Ivan did.

* * *

 **a/n: hey friends! wanna be swell? y'all should follow me on tumblr! i'm under the same name. it'll be a writing blog, but you can also just like talk to me if you want! if i post stuff on there it'll probs come to ff soon, too, so it's not anything exclusive, although there may be some random thoughts about story ideas and stuff that you could comment on! alright, self-promotion done, hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred brought them far from the main campground before he spoke again. He settled against a thick tree trunk and sighed.

"Is everything alright?" Ivan asked. He approached the shorter man slowly. When Alfred didn't flinch away, he placed one hand on his waist and the other on his cheek. Alfred leaned into the touch.

"We can't do anything here. I don't trust some of the people in camp. It'd be best if they didn't know about us," he replied. He brought up his own hand, resting it on Ivan's and twining their fingers together.

"Please," Ivan breathed. "I've missed you so much." He inched forward, waiting for a reaction, anything, from Alfred. When Alfred responded by touching his lips against Ivan's, the prince couldn't help himself. He tangled his hand in Alfred's hair, pressed his tongue forward while bringing Alfred's lower half flush with his.

"We should stop," Alfred suggested, wrapping his arms around Ivan's neck and moving to nip at Ivan's neck.

"Okay," he agreed. He brought both hands downward, sinking his fingers into Alfred's muscled ass. The blond moaned then hopped up. This caught Ivan off guard for a few seconds, but Alfred latched his legs around his waist, grinding against Ivan's steadily hardening member. Ivan shoved him back against the trunk, using the tree to prop Alfred up while one hand moved to fiddle with Alfred's belt.

"Ivan," he groaned. "Please, just touch me. I want you."

Nodding, Ivan separated them just enough so they could quickly shed their pants. Ivan bit at Alfred's neck, pumping the soldier's weeping member while pressing his own against his rump. He moved a finger toward Alfred's warm entrance, but the blond wriggled impatiently.

"Just put it in, I'll be fine," he insisted. His hands were clenching Ivan's short tresses with desperation, but he loosened up his grip and gave Ivan a soft smile. "Trust me."

Nodding again, Ivan lifted Alfred slightly, giving him room to position himself. He pushed in slowly, not wishing to cause Alfred undue pain. He clenched around him painfully, crying out.

Ivan froze. "I'm sorry, I can stop. We shouldn't do this here, not without preparing you."

Alfred shook his head. "It's fine. I'm used to it, remember? Just keep going."

"I don't want to be like the other men who took you by force," Ivan said. "I want you to enjoy it."

"I will, I swear. Just… do it quickly, alright? Don't take your time with it."

"If you insist," he replied, still unsure. He obeyed Alfred's request, finding himself fully sheathed inside Alfred. He could feel the blood trickling from Alfred's hole and fought the urge to cry himself. Alfred was panting loudly, fighting his own tears and biting his lip.

"Alfred," Ivan said. "We can stop. I'm sorry. I love you, I don't want to hurt you."

"It's fine," he repeated his new mantra. "I'm fine. Give it a minute. Just need to adjust, haven't done this in a while, you know."

While it pleased Ivan to hear that, he was still bothered that Alfred was so open to causing himself such pain. Hoping to ease the other's tension, as his clenching muscles were hurting Ivan as well, he smothered Alfred's neck with tender kisses and sucks. Slowly, the blond relaxed, his breathing evened out, and he spoke.

"Fucking move," he ordered.

So Ivan did.

He finally heard noises of pleasure from Alfred so figured he was doing his job properly. He hadn't slept with anyone besides the other, and he had been receiving, so he was far from well-versed in the practice. Still, he did what felt natural to him, and the experience was inspiring, to say the least.

"Ah!" Alfred cried out.

Ivan stopped his thrusting. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, god yes, you idiot. Just hit there again, please!" he whined. It took a few thrusts, but soon Ivan found that special spot, and Alfred was in heaven. His moaning became incomprehensible, and he clung to Ivan's shoulders with all his might, drawing blood with his nails.

Ivan growled, his chest rumbling with the sound. The pain and pleasure were mixing into an incomprehensible blur, and he felt his end nearing. Alfred was in a similar place, chanting Ivan's name in his ear and telling him that he was coming. They finished together, both leaning against each other heavily for a few minutes.

Alfred was the first to move, chuckling lightly while tapping Ivan on the shoulder. The other grunted as he disturbed his fresh wounds. Ivan slid out, sighing at the sensation.

"We shouldn't have done that," Alfred said.

"Very romantic of you to say," Ivan replied. He pulled his bottoms up from around his ankles, feeling slightly undignified about the motion. He glanced up, blushing at the sight of Alfred's exposed lower half before him, liquids red and white sliding down his thighs in ribbons.

"Done staring yet?" he smirked.

"Sorry." He leaned forward, running his tongue up the man's legs. The taste of salt and metal flooded Ivan's mouth as he lapped up each drop, finishing around Alfred's wetted cock before pulling up the man's pants.

Alfred's breathing was labored from the attention, and he couldn't meet Ivan's gaze when he rose. "You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I wanted to."

"And Prince Ivan always gets what he wants," he teased. "Or King Ivan, soon enough."

He sighed. "I don't want to talk about that."

"You'll have to do it, you know."

"Talk about it or marry Natalya?" he asked. Alfred's steady stare answered his question. "How can I do that? It is disgusting. Even if she were not my sister, I already told you that I do not wish to sleep with someone who isn't you."

"Well, it'd only be one time. You could just pretend it's me."

Ivan blushed. "What if she doesn't conceive? It could be more than once. It's disturbing to even think of her in that way."

"If you don't, you'll never get to be Tsar," Alfred reasoned.

He scoffed. "As if I care about that. I'd rather be with you if I could. Let me remain a prince, I'd even be a commoner if I could be with you."

"You're too noble for a noble," Alfred laughed. "You need to be on the throne, Ivan. It's where you belong."

"Why?"

"Your father talks about you a lot, you know," Alfred ducked under Ivan's arms, walking further into the thicket. "Every letter he gets from you, he praises you. 'Ivan's so smart, he's so good with the people, his ideas are incredible'!" he mocked. "It's adorable, really."

"I wasn't lying when I said he talks about you non-stop," Ivan said. "It seems he'd prefer you over me."

"He did say that, actually. He called me the son he never had. But, he loves you, the son he does have, and he's proud of you. Me and your father, we are soldiers, not suited for much else besides war and fighting. He realizes this, realizes that the age of war is ending. The empire needs a leader who is smart and cultured, someone who can bring Russ from its warring ways and refine its populace. That someone of course is you."

"He… he said that?" Ivan asked.

"He didn't have to. He trusts me these days, I think I know him well enough. We've fought side by side, saved each other's lives on numerous occasions."

"Did he ever… take you?"

"The first night I came in, yes. And the night after. But then I started training and we became something like friends, oddly enough."

"How could you forgive him for what he's done to you? I never will."

Alfred shrugged. "You often forget of my background."

Ivan frowned. He decided to change the subject. "Who in the camp do you not trust?"

"One of the captains here. I think they're plotting something against your father, as does Peter," he lied.

Ivan flinched at the use of his father's first name. He hadn't anticipated Alfred being so close to the Emperor. "What does he wish to do about it?"

"I'll kill him," he said simply. "And his squadron."

"But, have you any evidence?"

"No."

"You'll just follow my father's orders, no matter how cruel?"

"The throne is his for now. I follow the throne."

"He wanted to tame you," Ivan spat. "I never thought he'd succeed at it. You are still a slave, even now!"

"Aren't we all slaves to something, Ivan?" he asked. "Perhaps for now I follow your father, but in a few years, it'll be you on that throne. You'll make Russ better, and I'll help you do it."

"Alfred, you're more than a tool of the Emperor. You are your own person. You can do what you want, love who you want. I don't want to use you, I only want to love you," he insisted. Alfred's meandering was leading them ever further from the camp, the distant light doing little to help them navigate the terrain.

"You're already the king of useless sentiment, at least," he laughed. "Why do you insist on chasing after me so?"

"Because I love you," he said as if the answer was obvious.

"Why?"

"Well, at first I lusted after you, I'll admit. I was young and immature then, I thought you a precious little doll that needed to be protected from the evils of the world. But you are not an idiot, nor are you weak, I realized, but I still want to protect you. I want you to thrive with your freedom, to live out your dreams. Do you understand?"

"You love me because you want to help me?"

He sighed. "No, I suppose I'm not saying this well. I love you because of your soul, Alfred. All your life you've been kicked down and belittled, and yet you smile, you laugh, you brighten my day. You make me ask questions, make me want to make this world better so that you can live happily in it. Despite all the pain, you're not bitter. Sure, you're guarded, and I can understand that, but you still have a well of happiness deep down. All I want is for you to tap into it, not for me, but for your sake."

Alfred pondered the words for a moment. Inside, he laughed at Ivan's misinterpretation of his temperament. He was pure bitterness, he thought, he was filled with nothing but hate. He chanced a glance at Ivan's eyes which were pleading for him to understand.

He couldn't feel hatred when he looked into those purple orbs, he thought, which was rather irksome. He sighed. "I do not love you," he said.

"I know. You don't ever have to. Just know that I love you, Alfred."

"I think I get it, big guy," he grinned. "Why, you serve me so blindly, you're like my own little slave."

"It's different!" he insisted, blushing. "I… er… well…" he sighed, exasperated. "Perhaps I am, but so what?"

"Well then," he said, sounding pleased. "As my little love slave, I have a command for you," he turned, placing his hands on Ivan's waist and pulling him close.

"Of course, what is it?"

"Marry Natalya."

"No."

"Forget about me."

"Never."

He laughed. "You're a horrible slave. I should have you beaten for this."

"I'll take any punishment you have for me, master," he purred. Alfred shivered.

"That's just not fair. What would your people think if they heard their prince acting so submissive?"

"I don't care," he nuzzled his nose against several bruises that had arisen on Alfred's neck.

He stretched his neck, giving Ivan room to explore the skin. "Fair enough. You will have to marry her, though."

"I know. But I don't want to think about that right now."

"We need to get back to camp. If the other soldiers think we're together, it could be bad for you, you know. They could kill me."

"You wouldn't die so easily."

"Probably not, but I'd prefer to avoid any assassination attempts."

"Oh?" Ivan smirked. "You're important enough that it's not 'murder' but an 'assassination'?"

"Of course! I am in possession of the future Emperor's heart, after all."

"I suppose you are," he smiled against Alfred's neck. Finally, he pulled away, taking the younger's hand in his. "Let's head back then before you tempt me further."

* * *

Their parting was not as sweet as their reunion, as Ivan was forced to leave before the soldiers were even awake. He slept alone, woke up alone, and set off of his journey alone. The trip was long as it was boring, with only his attendant and his books to entertain him. What he would have given to have Alfred there with him, to hold him in his arms as the carriage rolled over hills and rocks.

He arrived at the palace a few days later, sore from sitting so long and ready for a bath. Unfortunately, he was denied his moment of peace when his younger sister came barreling down the front steps toward him.

"Big brother!" she yelled. "Welcome back!" She jumped toward him, latching her arms—too thin, too dainty—around him.

"Hello, Natalya," he said cordially. "I suppose you've heard the news, then?"

"Of course! Father sent a letter ahead of you. Aren't you so excited? We'll finally be married! Oh, you'll love Minsk. I spent my youth there, remember? It's small, but elegant."

"I'm sure it'll be a lovely home, sister." He cleared his throat. "For propriety's sake, perhaps you should not touch me so often until the wedding."

She immediately backed away. "You're right. Do not worry, brother, I have remained pure for you and will not be claimed until our wedding night."

"Ah, yes, thank you. Did you just run out here to greet me or is something the matter?"

"Both. We do need to start planning for the ceremony. You need a coat tailored since you've outgrown your old robes. I've had my fitting already, and the dress and veil are being crafted now. It should be ready in a month. In addition we need to arrange for guests' lodgings and the menu, and we must decide what possessions you wish to move to Minsk." She took out a long roll of paper, covered in black marks. "I've taken the liberty of writing down all your school friends to add to the list, as well as our cousins, the other Kings, and their families."

He took the outstretched paper, only recognizing a handful of the hundred or so names. "This is… very thorough," he said.

"Thank you. We also must consult with the royal priest so he can prepare an appropriately moving ceremony. Our family will provide suitable toasts, I hope. I anticipate that the festivities will last three days, giving the people plenty of time to get to know us and fall in love with us. The people need to support us as their future rulers, after all."

He chuckled. "And when's the last time you left the palace, dear sister? You hate talking to the people."

She blushed. "Only certain peasants are bothersome! I've gotten more used to talking to the staff members, and my trainers say my manners have improved drastically! Katyusha has also been helping me with my speaking. I will not embarrass you, dear brother!"

"I'm sure you'll be perfect, Natalya," he said with affection. He truly did love his sister; he held nothing against her for her obsession with him. He'd only wished things weren't as they were. Natalya deserved to be with someone who loved her as a spouse should, not as a brother.

His sister finally left his side so he could settle back into his room. After a very long and relaxing bath, he caught up on some sleep since he'd had difficulty sleeping during the bumpy ride south. Upon waking, his tutor requested his presence, and so he dined then found himself in the library for another lesson.

He'd become rather taken with the subjects of history and politics, very apt for a young ruler. Unfortunately, books about nations beyond the Empire were scarce, as the libraries of the western nations had all been destroyed. Most accounts were only of how the Russian army succeeded in destroying the towns. He never learned of their politics, their sciences, their achievements. His tutor scoffed at such ideas—of course those savages had no culture worth mentioning, in his opinion.

For the next seven months, Ivan carried on as usual, his studying only interrupted by a question about the wedding. He wrote his father regularly, and learned that their campaign was nearing its close; they had succeeded in their siege of the Nordic capital, and thus control of the Baltic Sea would be theirs. All that was left to do was deal with the captives, decide whether they should be killed or sold as slaves in the Russian market.

It took the army half a month to travel to the capital in its entirety, and with them they brought a staggering number of slaves. As promised, the close of the procession marked the start of Ivan and Natalya's nuptials. The kingdom had been preparing for the massive joint celebration for weeks, and they were ready for their hard work to come to fruition.

Ivan finally got to see his father when the procession arrived at the palace. Of course, the entire army couldn't fit even if they used all of the ballrooms and dining halls, so many were relegated outside across the kingdom, with most choosing to take their leave and head home to their families. Only a select few were allowed entry inside, all of them bathed and changed before introducing them to the royal couple.

Peter joined Ivan at the head table within an hour of arriving, smiling at his beautiful children. They spoke of mundane matters, neither of the battle nor of the wedding. Wang and his son were also there, as was Alfred. All the kings from the kingdoms of the Empire outside of Muscovy were there, the kingdoms of Minsk, Kiev, Tallinn, Riga, and Vilnius, to name a few. The current King of Minsk was a bit upset to be uprooted, but he had no room to question his Emperor.

There were a number of toasts offering congratulations to the happy couple, as well as ample food and drink. It was a merry ceremony, and then everyone retired for the evening with the exception of Ivan and Natalya who took part in the Divine Liturgy where their rings were blessed. The next morning, the wedding party headed to the palace's church, an ostentatious bastion erected by Peter's father many years before. As tradition dictated, the rings as well as candles and many prayers were bestowed upon the couple.

Their vows were short and simple, with both promising to be faithful to each other and to Russ. Ivan placed the band on Natalya's right ring finger, and she did the same to him. Alfred found the entire service to be rather boring, so was ready at that point for the feast. However, they still had to go through the gruelingly long crowning ceremony which featured even more prayers and benedictions. At least the pair got some wine, he thought, feeling very bored and wanting for some amusement. He hardly listened to the priest, instead feasting his eyes on the groom, dressed nobly in red, white, and gold. Natalya also looked gorgeous in her embroidered gown with its train that had to be held by five attendants. But in comparison to Ivan, he thought she looked plain and homely. He could already imagine Ivan's fine visage and body on the throne, and not just ruling over Minsk, but over the entire Empire.

Finally, the priest bound their hands in a stole and led them around a large tome three times. The crowns were placed on the couple, and then the wedding procession began. It was a dull march, Alfred thought, though the locals were full of joy as they welcomed the royal couple, throwing flowers and even coins toward them.

The ceremony and the tour had taken half the day, so on returning to the castle, there was a short break before the late reception. Most people tried to get in a quick rest, and Alfred was among them. He was awoken rather roughly by another captain and ushered to the dining hall. The royal family was already seated, and Alfred found a spot at a table near the back. Peter gave the pair two crystal glasses and they broke them, producing an impressive number of jagged shards. The guests cheered, as this spoke well to the union. Food and drink were enjoyed for several hours as well as a number of toasts before the dancing commenced in the ballroom.

Ivan took his wife's hand and led her to the middle of the floor. They both looked radiant under the flickering glow of the chandeliers, moving in tandem to a slow ballad. At the conclusion, the floor was open to all the guests. Many were well-imbibed thanks to the many toasts and blessings, so the mood was jocular. Peter made a number of jokes throughout the night; even Ivan seemed to be in good spirits. Unsurprisingly, Natalya was overjoyed with the day, especially since her brother—no, her husband—was so willing to hold her hand and kiss her lips whenever the guests called for it.

Alfred only lasted an hour once the dancing began. He slipped away from the ballroom and then past the palace walls completely. Despite his fatigue, he didn't wish to sleep. Instead, he wandered past shops and houses, along the river and over it, until the sun rose. When he realized the hour, he sat on a nearby bench, sighing loudly to himself. He knew that the palace would begin another feast soon, one that would last all day. This would be repeated the next day as well, and then Ivan would be gone. He would be married. He would be bound to Natalya.

He shook his head, not wishing to dwell on such thoughts. He stood up and started walking, though this time he had a destination in mind. It took an hour, but soon he was at the Pits. They were also celebrating, as all of Muscovy had the days off. He waved at guards who recognized him, sweet-talked the ones who didn't, and soon was laughing over a bowl of stew with Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio. They told him about what life had been like since he'd left, and he talked about the war. They talked of the wedding, of their rulers, and of political unrest. Alfred was surprised to hear about the many skirmishes that were occurring throughout the kingdom, even more so at the lack of punishment for the violent slaves.

He spoke to those assembled, reminding them of their fight. He promised them that soon a leader would come, one who would abolish slavery. All he asked was that they be prepared to fight when he asked, as it wouldn't be Winter who would bring their salvation. They cheered for him, praised him, begged him to rule them. He only laughed, insisting that he would never be a good king, but that he would ensure the delivery of one.

He spent the next two days in the Pits, teaching his adoring fans and delivering promises only he knew were empty. By the time he returned to the palace, the crowds were gone, and the staff were hard at work cleaning the grounds. As an advisor, Alfred had been given a small room in a building near the church, and so he stopped there to rest and clean up.

Falling on his bed, there was a crinkling sound. He lifted his head and rummaged around his pillow, finding a folded paper tucked in the pillowcase. He already knew who it was from, of course, but he turned it over to see the refined scrawl of Ivan. He broke the wax seal and read the short note, smiling all the while.

 _Dear Alfred,_

 _I missed seeing you at my wedding. My father said you'd requested time away to speak to some friends before moving here permanently. However, it was rather rude that you didn't even congratulate me on my most blessed union. Natalya was quite offended, though she may have been more upset that my father even invited a "scruffy slave" to the ceremony. We leave for Minsk today. I had hoped to see you this morning to say goodbye in person. Rather, I had hoped to see you every morning, to wake up next you knowing that you were mine and mine alone. But, I digress. Goodbye until we meet again._

 _With love,_

 _Ivan_

Alfred walked over to his fireplace which had thankfully already been fed and lit. He basked in the warmth for a few minutes, extending his hands toward the bright flame. In his hand he bore the note, and he read it several more times, memorizing the words, the handwriting, the smell of fresh ink and paper and just a hint of Ivan's musk.

Tossing the note in the fire, he watched the edges catch. Blackening and curling upon itself, the paper became nothing but ash in less than a minute.

He stood, staring, for some time; he didn't know how long. There was a knock on the door and he finally turned, blinking to sooth his aching eyes. He answered it, and Kiku quickly pushed past him to enter, shutting the door behind him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, surprised by Kiku's rudeness.

"I didn't want to be seen. Did you talk to your people?"

"Yes, they're on board."

"Good. We will certainly use this to our advantage. What of Ivan?"

"What about him?"

"Will he be a problem?"

Alfred glanced toward the fire, tilting his head slightly. "No. He won't be a problem at all."


	6. Chapter 6

It didn't take long for the newlyweds to fall into a comfortable routine after arriving at Minsk. The first few weeks were hectic, with hiring trustworthy staff and training new slaves as well as getting used to the layout of the palace. Natalya handled the day-to-day house proceedings with grace, every bit the queen she was raised to be. Ivan was busy with business in the city as well as with communicating with neighboring kingdoms, so he was excused from trivial interviews and interior design matters.

As commanded, Ivan had consummated his marriage to his sister on their wedding night. She had been surprisingly agreeable to his aloofness in the bedroom since then, never pushing him to sleep with her other than their first time. While they had a bedroom for coupling, it was never used, as both stuck to their respective chambers in separate wings of the palace.

Ivan was hosting a number of ambassadors from the kingdom of Dresden when an attendant announced his wife's request for an audience. She was forced to wait for a few minutes while he wrapped up his meeting, but she hardly minded, so doting was she of her husband.

"Good afternoon, Natasha," he smiled warmly. "How was your visit to the hospital this morning?" She had been engaging in many charitable trips into the city in order to gain approval in the eyes of the people. She absolutely hated it, however, but she was a good actress.

"Disgusting," she said flatly.

"I hope you didn't tell them that."

"Of course not. I was polite and regal. They loved me. They want me to come back with you next time."

"Give me a few days' notice and we can arrange it, I'm sure. Now, what did you need?"

"I have great news," she smiled, showing her teeth. Such a grin was rarely seen from her.

"Oh? Did the new chairs come in?"

"Yes, but that's not important. Although, they look divine in the dining hall. Well… I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened. He was sure his jaw had dropped. Coughing lightly to cover his surprise, he finally gathered his thoughts. "That's incredible. Are you sure?" It had been a few months since their wedding, but she hadn't seemed any different.

"I suspected it last month. I didn't want to get your hopes up for nothing, however, so I kept it a secret. I was checked while I was at the hospital, and the doctor said it officially," her eyes were watering slightly. "Oh, Vanya, I can't believe we're going to be parents!" She placed her hands over her stomach. While still slim, he supposed he could notice a slight bump.

He stood from his throne, taking his wife in his arms. As much as he didn't wish to be married to her, he couldn't deny that the thought of a child warmed his heart. He knew he would come to love the infant and only hoped their familial relations would not affect its health. "I'm very happy. Do you wish for a boy or a girl?"

"A boy, of course. You need an heir."

"I'd like a boy too, I think. Maybe a sister would come someday," he mused. On realizing the implications of that statement, he tensed. Natalya noticed and sighed.

"One child is enough for me, Vanya. Perhaps Katyusha will marry and provide our prince a young cousin to play with. That would be nice."

"Yes," he relaxed. "Thank you, Natasha."

"For what?" she asked, perplexed.

"I know I'm not the most agreeable of husbands. I am not romantic to you. But I do love you, my dear sister. You are my family."

"I know this, brother. I love you, too," she stood up on her toes to kiss his cheek softly. "What shall we name him?"

He chuckled. "Are you so sure it's a boy, now?"

"He will be. He feels strong. Here," she grabbed his hand, placing it over her belly. Even through the fabric of her dress he felt her skin, taut and soft.

"Am I supposed to feel something?"

"Not yet," she admitted. "But he'll know you're there, maybe. Our little Vanya."

"You wish to name him Ivan Ivanovich? I can't say I'm a huge fan."

"It's a strong name. Well, perhaps Alexey."

"Alexey Ivanovich Bragin…" he tested the name on his tongue. "Or Mikhail. Aleksander. Oh, there are just so many good names!" he smiled, steadily growing more excited. "We must prepare the nursery. I will send for the royal midwife immediately. Are your rooms sufficient for your comfort? You really should start eating a bit more, for the baby," he rambled.

Natalya laughed, a pleasant and crisp sound Ivan hadn't heard since their childhood. "Vanya, calm down. I'll take care of all of the rooms, do not worry. And I'll tell the chef to adjust his menu for me. Having the midwife here would be good. I may also write Katyusha and ask her to come, if that's alright."

"Of course; she's always welcome."

"Perfect. Alright, future father, I must start preparing the nursery immediately. Little Volodya will like green, I think."

"You are an intuitive mother," he teased, stepping back and releasing his sister from their embrace.

"I will see you at dinner, love," she gave another swift kiss, this one on the lips, then left.

Slumping down in his throne, Ivan sighed heavily. He still had a number of meetings and dinner with a cousin that day, so the good news would have to be put on hold. He would be leaving for Petrograd the following morning for a two week trip at his father's request—apparently the king had been engaging in some ambitious architectural projects in the marshland and wished to show off the progress to his son.

The next morning, Natalya saw him off with a kind smile. She'd been so much warmer since their wedding, gone was the crazed young girl who stalked him in their childhood palace. She was now a demure and sophisticated woman worthy of being the next Tsarina, he noted.

His journey was long, but his tutor made great use of the days to drill him in his Chinese lessons. He was fluent of course, but his writing was apparently atrocious, Yao always said, so he had been committed to improving himself. During his breaks he read letters from friends in Byzantium who told him of some odd happenings within the church. As soon as he could, he'd be sure to respond with a more thorough enquiry, as any discord in the church may not bode well for the royal family of the religious empire.

Unlike his previous trip to Petrograd, this one was more comfortable given the development of crude roads as he neared the city. Gone was the fortress and the barracks he'd seen. In its place were dozens of short buildings with unique coloring and external molding. He passed over a number of bridges, glancing out his carriage window to appreciate the canal system. They stopped outside a wall and Ivan knew they had found the palace. A drawbridge was lowered, and they were allowed inside.

An impressive gold church greeted them, as well as a densely packed brick road. Past the church was a large structure, presumably the main governmental building as well as the palace. It seemed to be the most ornate building in the city, though it was minuscule in comparison to his home in Muscovy or even his quainter palace on Minsk. He was sure his father would build some larger homes for the king and other lords outside of the kremlin.

Some attendants noticed his arrival and helped him settle in. He was placed in a decently sized room with a lovely view of the sea, but the furnishings were scant. The food at least was palatable, but he still felt a bit uncomfortable with the arrangement—he'd honestly been more impressed with the tent he'd stayed in two years prior, as at least that had had a plush bed, fine silks, and ample space for his wardrobe and vanity.

He met his father at dinner and was disappointed to find the man alone. He'd been praying to gods he didn't believe in that Alfred would be there, but it was in vain, it seemed. Still, he enjoyed the conversation, and the mood turned celebratory when Ivan told him the news of Natalya's pregnancy. He raised a toast and immediately suggested several names, only adding to Ivan's ever-growing list.

The next morning, the monarchs ventured the rest of the city. Ivan was amazed with the progress, and his father seemed to be very passionate about its development. He let on that he hoped someday Petrograd would rival Muscovy in size and glory, though he confessed that this probably wouldn't happen till long after his death.

They also spoke lightly of politics. Peter shared an ambitious road construction plan that would put the new Nordic slaves to work. By improving the roads connecting the various kingdoms, travel and trade would be made easier, and everyone would benefit. Ivan thought it was a good idea and contributed to the mapping, but he did believe the cost to be too high and the work too demanding.

"Too demanding?" Peter laughed. "They are slaves, my son. They can handle a bit of heavy lifting."

"Of course they are strong, but this amount of work on such a large scale… and you wish for it to be completed in a few years? Providing housing and food for the workers would cost even more than the materials. In the meantime, it would take away laborers from farms and the cities. Who then would be producing goods?"

"The slave population is large enough that the economy could handle the strain. I consulted with the financial advisor on this already."

"I'm surprised. Vash is usually quick to squash such expenses. I was led to believe that he was set on not spending another penny since the war was so expensive."

"The roads will be good, even Vash says so. Plus, after you two move to Muscovy I'll be able to visit my lovely grandchild much more easily."

"What?"

"I may be assigning you to Muscovy soon."

"As Emperor?"

"No. As King. I've been thinking of moving the seat of the empire here, to Petrograd."

"That makes no sense, father. It is too far removed from the other kingdoms. And, there are no kingdoms close enough to offer support should stray bands attack. The city is much too young. Muscovy has been the capital for over a century!"

"And before then, Kiev was the capital for longer. Empires change, Ivan. People are always uncomfortable with it at first, but they come to accept it and then, looking back, realize that the change was for the best." He smiled, breathing deeply. "I grew up in Muscovy, as you know. I'd never sailed a boat or saw a need for a navy. Now that we have unfettered access to the sea, I wish to invest in these pursuits. We will be able to sail to the abandoned western lands with ease. Kiku could take more trips to America, perhaps, or there is rumor of a kingdom to the south across the ocean. Petrograd is a clean slate for the empire. Muscovy is too large and dense, I think. Moving here is like a breath of fresh air. In only a few years, those who live in these mansions will be the envy of the nation."

Ivan sighed, knowing he couldn't persuade his father to reconsider. The emperor had that far-off, wistful look in his eyes. So quick was he to abandon the heart of Russ, he thought. And yet, it seemed as if the man had found his soul in the new city.

After a week in Petrograd, Ivan could understand why his father would be so taken with the land. The weather was pleasant that time of year, and there really was something therapeutic about the air. While the engineers were hard at work with building, they still offered him kind smiles and brief but cheerful conversations when he passed by. He spent a particularly warm day dipping his toes in the blue waves while idling on the beach. Of course, he wasn't completely lazy, as he had a number of texts to study and accounts to double-check, but it was still a relaxing use of time. On returning to the palace, his skin had a tinge of pink and was warm to the touch. His carriage pulled up alongside another, more ornate vehicle.

Hoping for the best, he ventured toward the main drawing room where guests were entertained. Sure enough, his prayers were answered, and there before him was Alfred, laughing at something the emperor had said.

"Ivan!" Peter smiled. His cheeks were rosy, and Ivan assumed that the man was drunk, even though it was only dinner time. "Look who's here!"

Alfred gave a polite nod. "Good evening, my lord. Did you enjoy your beach day?"

"It was very nice, thank you." Ivan felt warmer under Alfred's gaze than he had while baking in the sun. "Who's this?"

The young woman sitting beside Alfred rose gracefully. He could tell from her features that she was from one of the eastern kingdoms. Her demeanor suggested a high rank. She gave a deep curtsy and rose again, meeting Ivan's eye with a steady gaze.

"Ivan," Alfred spoke. "This is Lady Chung Lien. Or rather, Lady Jones now."

Ivan blinked. "I beg your pardon. Jones?"

He laughed. "Yes. That is my last name, after all. Lien is my wife."

"You married?"

"Very quickly on your heels, actually. Your father gave me a title and insisted that I make a match as soon as possible. Yao just happened to have a young cousin who was available. We're expecting our first child soon."

"A title?" Ivan was flabbergasted. "Do you live in Muscovy?"

"For now, yes. But, we're actually moving here soon. Our palace is being built as we speak. Peter is ensuring only the best for our home. That's actually why I'm here: to survey the work and make sure things are going according to plan."

"This is a lot to take in," Ivan observed.

"Don't act so surprised, boy," his father said. "While you've been living the newlywed life in your little village, the rest of us have been busy with work. I can't have Alfred prancing around court an eligible bachelor. It would be better to pair him with someone trustworthy."

"Meaning, of course, someone he can hold over Yao," Alfred explained. Ivan's eyes darted toward the woman they were speaking of so openly. "Don't worry. She's deaf. There's a reason someone so lovely wasn't married, you know."

"Deaf?"

"Yes. She can read lips well enough, but only in her native tongue. When people are speaking Russian too quickly, she's a bit lost." He gave his wife a kind smile which she returned warmly. "Your father thought it'd be wise for me to marry her in case Yao ever tries anything against him."

"Yao? Why would he try anything?"

"To take power for himself, of course. Thanks to Alfred, I know all about his little schemes. I keep my enemies very close, you see. Should he ever try anything, Alfred will promptly remove his relative, followed swiftly by Kiku then Yao if they are not deterred."

"You cannot solve all your problems with violence," Ivan sighed. "And can't you have someone else do your dirty work? Alfred is a lord now, not some assassin."

Both shrugged, neither seeming to mind the arrangement. Ivan groaned. "You two should learn to use your words."

"That's hardly any fun!" Alfred laughed. "Anyway, your father tells me Natalya is pregnant?"

"She is."

"That's great! I knew you had it in you!"

Ivan glared. "And you mentioned that your wife is with child as well?"

"She thinks so. She's been slightly ill lately, and there are some other signs. It's still a bit early to tell. But, she's pretty confident."

"I see," Ivan said, feeling a bit uneasy. Alfred seemed to be radiating happiness, holding his wife's hand with the gentleness of a lover. They couldn't actually be in love, could they? Would Alfred have betrayed Ivan so easily?

"Ivan," Alfred's voice cut through his pessimistic thoughts like a knife. "Lien is tired from our journey and I am a bit eager to visit my new home. Would you care to join me on the trip?"

Ivan glanced at his father, unsure if this was a test. The man only smiled, lifting his cup to grant his permission. "Very well. I do need to change quickly, however."

"Not a problem," Alfred flashed a grin. He tugged on his wife's hand and led her from the room, no doubt taking her to their guest room. This left Ivan and Peter alone for a few tense moments.

"How long will they be here?" Ivan asked.

"They leave when you do."

"And why did you invite them here while I am your guest?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Peter laughed. "You followed your duty in marrying Natalya. Despite what you think, Ivan, I don't find joy in torturing you. I want all my children to be happy. Of course, you can't by law be bound to someone like Alfred; however, I see no point in trying to deny you of what you want, so I will allow you two to carry on in private. All I ask is that you keep this under wraps. It wouldn't do should someone like Yao discover what's going on. He may wish to then use either of you to hurt the other, and then to hurt me."

"I see," Ivan nodded. "What if Lien suspects something of our interactions?"

"Don't worry about her. She adores Alfred, you know. He is a kind husband. Because of her condition, she thought she'd die alone, so when he offered her an alternative, she took to it readily. She wants him happy too. You worry too much, my son! Here I am giving you an opening to pursue all that your heart desires, and still you're in your head."

Ivan only shook his head. "Father, I think the consequences of this far outweigh the benefits—"

"Sick of me already, Ivan?" Alfred asked from the doorway. He was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an obnoxious smirk on his face.

"Alfred, I do not think this is wise. There are too many people here. How do we know that the drivers will be loyal? Or your wife? Furthermore, I do not appreciate having my father play as a matchmaker, of all things."

The emperor shrugged. "Blame yourself for not taking initiative. After all this time, you never even contacted Alfred or invited him into your home. I thought it was better to arrange all this—" he waved around the room. "—for you two, since you're both so incapable."

"Father," Ivan growled. "I don't need your help!"

"Come on, big guy, don't get mad at Peter." Alfred strolled to his side and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I'll take him off your hands, sir," he said to Peter with a wink.

"Good riddance!" With a laugh, Alfred escorted Ivan out of the room and toward the front door. Soon they were hopping up into Alfred's carriage.

"I did mention that I wanted to change," Ivan observed.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You'll survive." He chose to change the topic. "Anyway, how's married life been for you? I find it awfully boring! At least I don't have to entertain Lien too much. She's rather reserved."

"It is fine. I am a bit more occupied with my duties to the kingdom. I'll admit I spend little time with Natalya."

Alfred sighed, leaning back against his seat heavily. "Peter's right. You're too tense. Why are you so serious?"

"I am merely committed to making Minsk the best kingdom it can be. I do not serve my own interests."

Alfred threw his arms behind his head, sinking deeper into his relaxed recline. "How dull. All the other kings are always looking out for themselves. Is it just because you serve your father? Because you have a greater sense of allegiance to him?"

"Of course not. It is because I have studied extensively how to lead. I do not enjoy taking time away from my people, nor do I make an effort to make time for 'fun'. As much as I do crave your company, it isn't wise for us to continue this relationship."

He raised a brow. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "I am. We are both married, now. In a few months, we will be fathers. My kingdom also needs to be considered. What kind of king would I be if I'm more focused with meeting a secret lover than with it?"

Alfred frowned. "And you didn't think to consider my feelings on this?"

"What feelings?" Ivan spat. "You don't love me."

"There are other feelings besides love," Alfred replied. The carriage slowed to a stop, signaling the end of their journey. "Come, I do still wish to check out the place." He opened the door and stepped down. Turning back, he offered his hand to Ivan. The king rejected the appendage and descended the steps on his own. Alfred didn't seem to mind, however, as he only smiled while cheerfully continuing toward the palace.

It was an impressive structure, rivaling some of the finest manors in Muscovy. It was only three stories high, as most of the buildings in the city were, but it had a regal air about it. The façade was far from finished, and the windows still needed to be placed, but it looked beautiful from the outside. Alfred was not content with seeing just the outside, and so he led Ivan past the building equipment and stacks of marble and inside the bleak and unfinished structure. They swept past open rooms with their wooden beams still unpainted and crude, making their way towards an enormous staircase that Ivan assumed would be the main entranceway in the future.

The second floor was even less finished than the first, and Ivan was reluctant to walk in certain areas, as the foundation seemed far from ready for guests. Still, Alfred walked on, going on about the purpose of each room they passed. Finally, he stopped in a large room complete with a balcony that was severely lacking in a door. Alfred pulled Ivan outside into the cool evening air and leant against the railing. The view was gorgeous, with the balcony overlooking the sea. Ivan could see the lights from his father's palace across the water.

"You seem to be taken with this lifestyle," he commented to Alfred.

"You can't begrudge me for finding happiness in finally being comfortable," he mused. "So what if I am?"

"You're right. That wouldn't be fair. I am just alarmed with how much you've changed since I saw you last."

"I could say the same for you, Ivan," he chanced a glance toward Ivan, his eyes downcast. "Have you truly grown tired of me, then?"

He shook his head. "It's not that. Everything I said before, my feelings… they're still true. But, my priorities are a bit different. I can't allow my love for you to disrupt my thinking anymore. You've already held such power over me."

Alfred inched closer to Ivan, testing the waters. Ivan sighed then put his arm around Alfred's shoulder and pulled him into a tight embrace. The younger man huffed. "Did Natalya seduce you, then?"

Ivan's chest shook with the force of his laughter. "It's absurd that that would even cross your mind. I only touched Natalya on our wedding night. I thank the gods she conceived. It was just like you said, really. What of Lien? Does she make you happy?"

"She's nice to have around. Keeps me from feeling lonely. I don't have nearly as much work as you do, you know. I just sit around the grounds and wait for Peter to call a meeting. When I'm not advising, it's rather boring."

"And she's pregnant," he led.

"She is."

"Do you expect more children?"

"If this is your way of trying to ask me how often I sleep with my wife, then I'll just skip your runaround. Lien is a lovely woman. I enjoy her company as often as any husband should, I think."

Ivan's grip tightened. "So, then, moving on will be no problem for you."

"Of course. Kiku is also there if I'm feeling in the mood for something else."

"What?" Due to proximity, Ivan's voice was harsh and loud in Alfred's ear. His grip became vicelike. Alfred smirked, then, altering his expression into a frown, he turned toward Ivan and sniffed.

"Are you angry?"

"Of course I'm angry! All this time you've been with others without any concern for my feelings?"

"What difference does it matter since we're not even together anymore?"

"But we were at the time! Do you care for Kiku?"

"Of course not. But I've been lonely. It seems all we ever have is, what, one night together once a year? I have my own life outside of you, Ivan." He shook his head. "You think I have no concern for your feelings? That's all I've been concerned with! It's not a fun life, let me tell you."

"You really… care about me, then?" Ivan's hand found its home on Alfred's cheek, wiping a stray tear. "You were so alone without me that you used these people to fill the void?"

"Of course," he lied. "I never felt anything for them. It was always just… a temporary release." He leaned in, his breath hot against Ivan's cheek. "Please, Ivan. I miss you. You can't expect me to stay away from you for the rest of our lives. Even if this isn't the ideal situation, I'll take what I can get."

"Alfred," he sighed when Alfred moved his lips to Ivan's neck. "We shouldn't."

"Help me forget about the others, Ivan. Even if it's just for tonight. I want you." His tongue left a hot, wet trail over Ivan's skin, then he bit down. Ivan moaned, then growled, his anger from before returning. He grabbed Alfred's back roughly and lifted him, bringing him into the unfinished room where there was some semblance of privacy from the outside world. There was a thick pallet placed near one of the walls—Ivan figured Alfred had planned on them ending up together and so had it set up beforehand.

Ivan was far from gentle, but Alfred was very encouraging of the treatment, asking for Ivan to go harder, faster. His cries and moans urged Ivan to obey, and it wasn't till minutes after they were both spent that he realized how rough he had been. He glanced at Alfred's body, littered with bruises and bite marks, all of them proclaiming Ivan's possession. He ran tender fingers over the marks, and Alfred sighed, growing slightly aroused at the steady pulse of pain.

"I'm sorry," Ivan began. "I was not very considerate. Are you badly hurt?"

He shook his head. "You could never hurt me, Ivan. Don't be ridiculous."

Ivan sighed. "You shouldn't encourage me to be so harsh, regardless."

"We both like it, I don't see a problem." He turned, laying on his side to face Ivan. His head was propped up lazily on his head, and he smiled. "I think we both really needed that. The best way to end a fight is with sex."

"That's a poor coping mechanism."

"Are you still mad at me?" he probed.

"Not particularly."

"See? Not so poor if it works." He brought his hand forward and cupped Ivan's cheek. Smiling shyly—an odd contrast to his usual cocky grins and smirks—he pressed his lips to Ivan's gently. Ivan moved in tandem with Alfred, their kiss soft and sensual. Unlike their usual contact, this was slow and had no intention of progressing. Indeed, soon, Alfred pulled away and tucked his head into the crook of Ivan's neck. He grabbed the nearest piece of fabric which happened to be Ivan's overcoat and draped it haphazardly over their entwined bodies. Given the warm climate, Ivan didn't see much need for covering, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Alfred's shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"We can't stay here till morning, I'm sure," he mused. "Won't the workers be in tomorrow?"

"I gave them the day off."

Ivan chuckled. "You planned ahead."

"Of course. I always do. Tomorrow, though, we can head back to the palace. Peter has a little private beach nearby where we'll have a few hours, if you like to visit there with me."

"And Lien?"

"She'll be in town with the designer telling him what kind of furniture she wants. She won't mind."

"This is all so strange. Just a few years ago, my father was doing everything in his power to deny me you. And yet, now he throws us together. Things sure are different."

"Peter's a better man than you give him credit for."

"What's going to happen to us, do you think? When I'm in Muscovy and you're in Petrograd? Or whenever we see each other? Natalya will not be as understanding as Lien, I don't think. And others will be suspicious."

"So what? You are the second most powerful man in the empire, let them talk. If anyone has anything to say, they'll meet my blade."

"I really don't want you using such extreme measures."

"Whatever you think is best, then. And I suppose for now we should do what Peter says and keep things as private as possible. So no jumping me in front of the other counselors."

"I have some self-control. I'm not a teenager anymore."

He laughed. "Shall we just ignore your lapse in control from the last hour?"

"Of course." He chuckled. "I was helping you forget, as you so kindly begged me to do. I hope it worked?"

Alfred hummed contentedly. "What was I supposed to forget again?"

"That's good, I did my job then."

"Yes you did. Thank you, master."

Ivan tensed up, but Alfred didn't seem to notice. "What did you call me?"

"Is something wrong, master?" he repeated the title, his eyes gaining a mischievous glint. As wrong as he knew it was, Ivan couldn't help but grow aroused again at the way Alfred was eyeing him. "Did I upset you? Is there something I can do to make you feel better?"

"Uh…" Ivan's words left him in that moment, so he only stared blankly as Alfred threw off their meager covering and rolled on top of him, grinding their bare shafts together. He groaned as Alfred's hardened length excited his own.

Alfred lifted himself onto his knees and slowly eased his body onto Ivan's cock. The mix of blood and semen had dried slightly, but the sensation was far from distasteful. Alfred started out slowly, rocking back and forth and up and down. Eventually, he picked up the pace, and Ivan only stared in awe as his love fucked himself senseless. It was a pretty picture, he thought, and while he enjoyed watching Alfred do all the work, he also wanted to take control of the situation.

In seconds, their positions were reversed. Ivan thrusted deeper into Alfred since the blonde's legs were now over his shoulders, and soon both were nearing their ends. With more cries of "master" than Ivan had ever heard in his life, Alfred came hard in Ivan's pumping hand. Ivan followed soon after.

Ivan pulled out a few minutes later, struggling slightly to catch his breath. Alfred didn't seem to mind however, and actually whined when they separated.

"I'm surprised that worked as well as it did," Alfred confessed. "And here I thought you hated it when I was a slave."

Ivan blushed. "It's not that I want that for you again. It was just… I don't know, it sounded nice. You always do too much to me."

"Your self-control could use some work," he teased. "Well, at least we have the next few nights to deal with your sexual frustrations."

Ivan groaned, though this time it was from exhaustion. He was looking forward to their remaining days together, of course, but he knew it would be a taxing week.

The next morning, the pair returned to an empty palace just in time for lunch. They were served and retired to Ivan's room since it was larger than Alfred's. Ivan promptly dismissed the attendant for the day leaving the pair free to bathe together in peace. Afterwards, they headed for the beach, and Alfred was radiant with happiness as he soaked up the sun and swam around the shallows. Ivan preferred to rest in the shade, as he remembered how sleepy he'd been from his previous beach day and didn't wish to wear himself out. Despite his warnings, Alfred spent the entire afternoon in the sun. As a result, he was comically red during dinner which was shared with Lien and Peter. It wasn't nearly as awkward as Ivan had thought it would be. Lien didn't speak often, but when she did it was clear that she was as clever as she was beautiful. He saw how Alfred would slow down his speech for her sake and seemed to encourage her to speak up.

While to others it would be an endearing sight, it only made Ivan grow hot with jealousy. Alfred was far from kind to him. They teased and bickered and fucked, but the other man rarely showed him such affection in public. Even when they were speaking with others, Alfred was quick with quips.

After dinner, Lien retired to her room and Alfred bid her goodnight with a kiss. The three men shared in a few drinks together, Peter and Alfred doing most of the talking as they reveled in war stories. Even with his father, Alfred seemed to share things more openly. There was a level of trust there. Ivan wondered if he and Alfred would ever reach the point where they could speak as friends, as normal lovers.

Unknown to Ivan, Alfred was as perceptive as he was manipulative. Ivan was still as easy to read as ever, the way he frowned when Alfred held Lien's hand or laughed at Peter's jokes. And so, when they excused themselves to Ivan's room for the remainder of the evening, he showered alone and donned a heavier sleeping robe than usual—with his usual being nothing more than a pair of briefs. He slid into the bed beside Ivan who was reading by lamplight. Reaching between them, he laced their fingers together and brought the back of Ivan's hand to his lips.

Ivan's cheeks turned pink as he watched the display of affection. "What are you doing?" He set the book on the nightstand and turned his full attention on Alfred.

"I care about you, you know that, right?" He stroked his calloused thumb over smooth skin. "I know I'm harsh. I joke around a lot. I can't be as gentle with you in public as I'd like. But I do want this to work. I want _us_ to work, even if I'm not sure what that means. You said before that you loved me. I… honestly, I still can't repeat those words, and I hate that I can't.

"I don't want you to leave me, Ivan. I don't know what I would do. But I can't be as loving as you may want. I just… am not sure how."

While the words were pleasant, Ivan was still a bit sore about the events of the day. "You are warm and loving enough with Lien. Even with my father."

Alfred smiled, his suspicions had been correct. "That's fair. Lien… she's… special to me, I suppose. Can I tell you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Before I was brought here, I lived a pretty happy, peaceful life. I was very young when I was taken, so I don't remember a lot. But, I do remember enough."

Ivan was shocked with how open Alfred was being. He wondered if Alfred had ever told anyone of his old life before.

Alfred inhaled deeply, shuddering slightly. To Ivan's further astonishment, his eyes began to glisten with threatening tears. "I'm sorry," he said, trembling. "I was always taught not to think about my old life. Yao's training made sure of it. Whenever we cried, other slaves would show concern. But if you opened up, they'd rat you out and you'd be beaten for any sentiment. I did my own share of tattling, actually, as we were rewarded for it. Anyway, I rarely think of my family, honestly, because of that forced habit."

That answered that question, then, Ivan thought to himself. Alfred seemed hesitant to continue, so he placed a comforting hand on the other's back and rubbed it lightly. Sighing, Alfred seemed to relax. He gave an appreciative smile and continued.

"My parents were very kind and loving. They had five children of their own. When the two eldest moved out to live with their husbands and have their own children, they wanted even more kids. They started taking in orphans, kids like me. In the end, there were thirteen of us, plus my nieces and nephews. It was a full house, but it was also full of love.

"I was the youngest. The last one they took in. Despite how rowdy I was, they were never hurtful. I became a true piece of their family unit, and I felt so welcomed. I don't remember my life before they found me, all I remember is cold and hunger. I barely even talked the first month I lived there, I was so angry all the time.

"The second youngest sibling was a young girl, Rhoda. She was blind and if our parents hadn't taken her in, she would've died. I spent a lot of time with her, more than with the others. She relied on me, and I loved feeling like I was her hero, even if all I was doing was helping walk her to the market or assisting with chores or explaining the sights to her. She was always teased by the other people in town—our whole family was mocked, truly, as others saw us as nothing more than broken children.

"She was good friends with another boy, but he was a bit older than us. He was nice to her, and I trusted him as much as she did. Unfortunately, he took advantage of that trust. He convinced her that she was ugly and unlovable. That he was the only one outside her family that would ever love her. He hurt her, he raped her. She never smiled again. I could never figure out what happened until it was too late. She got really sick, and she didn't have the will to live. She just… faded away. As she was dying, she confessed what had happened. The entire time, she felt that it was her fault, and nothing I could say could ease her guilt.

"I was still much too young, so I couldn't hurt that boy. But I thought about it constantly. I knew that when I was old enough and stronger, I would kill him. But, a month after Rhoda's death, the Hunters came. They burned my home and killed those who fought back. I was hiding while they searched for survivors, and then _he_ stumbled upon my spot. He begged for me to let him in; I could hear the men getting closer. Instead, I pushed him out into the open. They were on him immediately. I watched him bleed out on the ground, and I felt no remorse for him. In fact, I felt angered that his death wasn't more painful.

"In the end, they caught me. I'm not sure why they didn't kill me, I was too young to be of much use. I suppose the captain thought me pretty enough. And then, you know the rest of the story. In short, I have a soft spot for Lien and people like her. I wish to protect her. I'm sure she would've found another husband someday, but what if they hurt her? She's such a kind and smart woman, she doesn't deserve that. I'll treat her well, at least."

Ivan pondered over the story for a few silent moments. Though Alfred didn't love him, surely his opening up was a sign that he was growing more comfortable, wasn't it?

"And as for your father," Alfred continued. "He is like a mentor, oddly enough. When you fight a war with someone, you grow some attachment. It's just a strong sense of comradery. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I suppose I do. Thank you for sharing this with me," he brought Alfred's head to his chest and held him tightly. Alfred wriggled uncomfortably. "Are you okay?" Ivan asked.

"My skin feels like it's burning!" he whined. "Could you let go of me?"

Ivan did so immediately. "My apologies. I told you that too much sun was bad for you!"

He groaned. "Guess we'll have to skip out on the fun stuff for tonight, then. But, that's alright!" he smiled. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. If it's not too painful for you, would you mind telling me more about your siblings? I want to know everything about you."

"Not a problem at all, big guy," Alfred laughed. "If you're a good listener and remember all their names, I'll have to give you a nice reward."

Despite Ivan's confidence in his listening skills, the names were both too foreign and too numerous for him to remember. Still, he gained a general impression of each of the siblings as well as the town's culture, and, a few hours later, he fell asleep with visions of this beautiful country that Alfred spoke of and with the even more beautiful countryman in his arms.

The next few days were blissful. Alfred tried his best to seem more genuine, even going so far as to kiss and hold Ivan's hand in public. The first time this happened, he feared that Lien or Peter would be indignant, but both seemed rather pleased by it. Even on the rare occasions when Lien and Ivan were alone, she was very civil with him. In fact, she occasionally teased him of his bashfulness and recommended that he be more forward with his affections. Never thinking he'd be accepting love advice from his lover's wife, he usually came away from those conversations both confused and embarrassed.

As all good things were wont to do, their pleasant vacation came to an end much too soon. The two lovers parted with a heated morning kiss that didn't degrade into their usual bedroom activity. In fact, since Alfred told Ivan about his family, his touches had been lighter and he was much less demanding. It was a new side to the soldier that Ivan loved getting to know. Of course he craved being connected with Alfred as fully as possible, but sex could only get them so far. He felt a deeper connection to the other when they spent their nights talking instead of fucking.

Alfred was scheduled to leave first, so he ended the kiss much too hastily and smiled apologetically. "I have to go. Lien is waiting."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Ivan," he said. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other, right?" Alfred had chastised Ivan for being reticent in communicating with him, forcing the king to promise to write at least twice a month.

"Hopefully. At the very least, you can expect a letter within a fortnight. You're positive no one else will intercept them, right?" he blushed.

Alfred smirked. "Make them as erotic as you want. They'll be secure."

Ivan sighed and pulled Alfred in for one last embrace. "I love you, Alfred," he repeated the thought his mind seemed to constantly dwell on.

"I love being with you, Ivan," he replied. Then, pushing away, he smiled brightly. "I look forward to your steamy letter, Vanya."

Ivan's blush only grew brighter. "You are always free to visit Minsk, you know."

"Perhaps I will. I'm not terribly busy, after all. Goodbye for now, Ivan."

For some reason, Ivan felt this goodbye to be the toughest of them all. He supposed it had something to do with it being the longest amount of consecutive time he'd been able to spend with Alfred. After waking up with the other in his arms for several mornings in a row, he knew he'd be miserable once back home with only his pillows to share his bed. Sighing, he left his room to break his fast with his father. Within an hour, his heart ached to hear Alfred's barking laughter or silly remarks from across the table. Instead, he was left with dull talks of politics and his travel plans. His father seemed to pick up on his morose mood, at least, so he wasn't as talkative as usual.

By noon, Ivan's own carriage was packed and ready to go. His driver took off down the long drive and he waved goodbye to his father. Once fully seated, his tutor was quick to test him on previous lessons. Since all of his time had been dedicated to Alfred, he'd ordered the attendant to take the week off and so was sorely behind on his Mandarin. Still, he knew that the temporary struggle was well worth the hours spent with his love. His attendant grew increasingly annoyed as the young king daydreamed rather than pay attention and finally gave up about halfway through their journey.

By the time Ivan arrived home, he'd already written three letters for Alfred which he promptly sent on their way. Yekaterina had arrived during his absence, so dinner with his sisters was relaxing and delightful.

Still, his smile was empty until a few weeks later when he finally got his first of many letters from Alfred.

* * *

 **A/N: Yay for long chapters and sporadic updating!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings: infanticide**

.

* * *

Writing Alfred often did satiate Ivan well enough, but the constant contact made him yearn for their next reunion if only so that his bold lover could fulfill his many promises. However, travel was not recommended, as citizens were in an uproar.

Soon after Ivan returned from Petrograd, news from Byzantium came. His friend had sent him a letter about a schism within the church, and within a week, everyone knew and was picking sides. The church looked down upon the royal family, citing corruption and immoral acts. The primary offense was Ivan's own marriage to his sister, which the Patriarch frowned upon. In addition, a number of their southern clergymen were calling for Russ to end slavery, claiming that their God cared for the souls of slaves just the same as for free men. The second matter wasn't of much importance to the Russians however, as most still saw merit in slavery. Regardless, discontent with the monarchy and the great gap between the rich and the poor was growing rapidly.

His father was quick to name a new Patriarch, one who would be loyal. The ex-Patriarch knew he would stand to be executed for treason if captured, and so he fled. There were many who joined him, and Peter had many a guard searching for the preacher who was quick to spread his message of salvation to any who would listen.

The camp of old believers was admittedly smaller than those who followed the new Patriarch and thus the crown, and it was primarily composed of slaves and poorer peasants who had grown to resent the monarchy.

Ivan could of course understand the discourse. He had never approved of the church's influence in Russ—he'd prefer there to be no religion at all, in all honesty. Still, he respected his citizens' rights to worship how they may. While in some kingdoms fights broke out between the old and new believers, in Minsk, Ivan's guard kept peace without much violence. He allowed for peaceful protests and encouraged debates. Even though he was the object of scrutiny, he did not shirk away from the public eye. Even when some spat at his carriage, he never had them punished, rather he sought to communicate well with them.

Unsurprisingly, then, the people of Minsk grew to love their kind king even more. Loyalty to the crown and abhorrence for the old Patriarch's heretic message became the popular sentiment. It helped that Ivan convinced Natalya to stay inside the palace for her health—surely she would not respond so kindly to any slurs directed her way, and it would only breed animosity in the populace.

While Ivan was highly approved, he knew things were worse in Muscovy. His father had been forced to return from Petrograd to deal with the upset, and last he'd heard, the palace doors were kept locked. Alfred didn't seem all too worried in his letters, at least, so Ivan didn't fear for them greatly. He was more annoyed with the whole situation, as it made it impossible for him to travel to the capitol and be with Alfred.

As the months passed, however, some of the fights grew more serious. Ivan's kingdom was in its own peaceful bubble, so he was always shocked to hear of lives lost in neighboring kingdoms and damage incurred. Some citizens, calling themselves Rebels, were attacking government figures and burning public buildings. Ivan feared that things were steadily getting out of control, and at the request of his father, he finally prepared for his trip to Muscovy.

Natalya was much larger as she was nearing her due date. Ivan begged for her to stay behind in her condition, but she refused to be parted from Ivan during such a tumultuous time. Ivan's counselors were left in charge, and the three siblings began their journey to Muscovy.

They passed a number of burnt villages, and Ivan only stared in amazement at the destruction around him. Yekaterina burst into tears at the sight, while Natalya only scoffed, herself feeling no sympathy for the Rebels or their cause. Despite it being the height of the farming season, crops were withered in their fields and not a soul was in sight.

Upon nearing the castle, they finally found where all the peasants and some slaves seemed to have gathered. Their driver redirected them to the rear of the Kremlin to avoid the main square, and they thankfully avoided detection.

Ivan thought it undignifying how they were forced to sneak into their own home, but he kept quiet. Finally safe from the dissenters, they were ushered to the main palace to meet with their father. Yekaterina and Natalya only stayed long enough to offer their greetings, then they left the room for the men to discuss the situation.

As soon as they left, Vash, the empire's financial advisor spoke, presumably continuing a point he'd been making prior to Ivan's entrance. "As I was saying, we have no choice but to delay the roads project, sir. There aren't enough people working the fields. Too many slaves are taking advantage of the chaos and choosing to run, only to be killed when caught, both by guards or scared citizens. We're facing a severe shortage in production, and the people demand the crown to provide for them though they refuse to work."

Peter groaned. "These people are idiots. Have we had any luck with finding the Patriarch?"

Yao shook his head. "Not yet, my lord. However, Kiku believes he has found a promising trail."

"Good. Remember, I want him alive," Peter ordered. "Things are even worse in Byzantium, I hear. People aren't taking too kindly to the new Patriarch. He fears for his life." He glanced at his son. "Minsk is one of the few kingdoms not in turmoil. Whatever you're doing there, I want you to implement it here, Ivan."

"It's not quite that simple. Minsk was already advantaged in that the populace is not strictly religious. They were also rather loyal to me to begin with. They even liked Natalya enough. Though there were some who joined the Rebels, they either were persuaded peaceably to reconsider or moved to other cities. I fear our strongest Rebels are still out there, perhaps wreaking havoc on other, less sympathizing kingdoms."

Before he could continue, Toris burst into the room, quickly followed by a dirty man. Yao must have recognized him, however, as he stood and rushed to his side.

"Yong Soo! Is everything alright?"

"Yes, it's fine. I was sent ahead of the party. Kiku's returning. We captured the Father!"

"This is good!" Peter said. "We can make an example of him."

Alfred laughed. "Making a martyr of him is more like it. These Rebels won't be dissuaded so easily."

"And what do you suggest, then?"

"Well, you already nulled my first idea, so I have nothing," Alfred pouted. A few of the other members shifted uncomfortably, making Ivan wonder just what his idea was. "Ivan, your people engaged in debates and were allowed access to you to place legitimate complaints, correct?"

"Yes, I opened up the court for that purpose. Some of the more popular speakers were allowed in the palace where I heard their grievances."

"I think you should follow suit, Peter," Alfred said. "You could let in any number of citizens, or allow them to assemble a list of grievances and respond to them. Or, you could allow a public display of the Patriarch voicing his own discontent."

"I will not be criticized in my own home!" he barked.

"Don't be silly. The old man won't actually stand much of a chance at arguing."

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone can be conditioned to say words they don't mean."

"You think the people would fall for that?"

"I think the people are looking for someone to put their faith in. If we can subtly discredit him, they'll lose their spark. It's not as if we have to convert him to the Loyalist side, but if we can get him to renounce the violence, sympathize with us even a little, they'll despise him. You won't even have to kill him; they'll tear him to pieces themselves. And then, without a figurehead, they'll be too disjointed to function."

"And what if another person rises up in his place?" Ivan asked. "Surely among them there is someone charismatic enough to inspire the masses."

"There is," Yao said. "And we're looking right at him."

"What do you mean?" Ivan asked.

"Alfred will infiltrate the enemy ranks. They know him. They know of his influence. They will trust his words, the 'secrets' he reveals. He will tell them to fight, and they will. Of course, we'll be ready, and they'll be captured or killed. Alfred will be put under trial and then confess to treason and publically confirm his loyalty to the crown. He will appear broken, and the rebellion will end."

"This is a ridiculous and convoluted plan. Surely they will suspect him from the beginning. They know he is no longer their Pits champion but a seasoned war counselor who enslaved hundreds of Nordics. They won't buy into his act."

"You doubt my ability? I think I could be a good enough actor."

"I don't know if this will work," Peter said. In truth, he didn't trust a plan proposed by Yao, but he didn't share his thoughts. Instead, he shared a significant look with Alfred, who smiled.

"It'll be fine, Peter. They won't know what hit them. I think it will work."

"Give me all the details before I make my decision," Peter ordered.

For the next few hours, Alfred offered his suggestions. It was a remarkably well thought out plan, but it left little room for error. Every step hinged on the previous, so one wrong move would bring about Alfred's demise. Ivan thought the whole thing unnecessary. Why couldn't they stop after hearing the Father's demands in a calm and orderly manner? Was all the subterfuge necessary? He frequently expressed his distaste with the plan, but as time went on, he was further ignored. By the end of the meeting, he was sufficiently angered and promptly exited for his room.

Natalya offered an ear for his angry ranting, soothing him with kind words. She tended to always agree with him, he knew, but it still felt nice for his contributions to be appreciated. She left him alone to bathe and then they met again for dinner.

It was a raucous affair, as many of the kings had assembled in Muscovy to discuss their current problem. Ivan was seated next to a minor lord on his left and Natalya on his right. The conversation was dull so he mainly focused on eating. On occasion, he glanced up and met Alfred's eyes which seemed imploring. He pointedly looked away whenever that happened, barely catching Alfred's frown in the fringe of his vision.

Following dinner was a rather casual party. Many drank and toasted to the crown. Ivan couldn't enjoy the liquor knowing that their behavior was exactly why there were people outside who were protesting them. Still, he smiled when he was supposed to, thanking everyone for their well wishes for his future child. When Natalya voiced her exhaustion, Ivan was quick to excuse himself from the party, and they retired to their rooms. He was too tired to even mind sharing a bed with his sister, so after changing, they both settled in for the night.

He hadn't slept next to Natalya in months, of course, and it was tiresome to do so. She wanted to cling to him, but she couldn't do so comfortably with her stomach. So, glaring at her body, she proceeded to whine about her soreness. As ready as he was to sleep, Ivan understood that she was carrying his child, and so it was proper for him to listen. After she ranted for a bit, he sat her up and rubbed her back and neck as best he could, then her legs and feet. It seemed to do the trick, as she was quiet and fell asleep minutes later. Sighing, Ivan followed suit.

For the next few weeks, he'd dine with fellow his fellow counselors and their wives and then prepare for Alfred's mission. The blonde was only present sporadically, as he and Kiku were placed in charge of reconditioning the esteemed prisoner. They exchanged a few pleasantries, but other than passing each other in the halls, they spent little time together. Ivan spent more time with Lien, who seemed full to burst—surely she was carrying multiple children in her massive stomach, he thought.

In addition to dealing with protesters and a food shortage beyond the palace walls, Ivan also had to keep up a regular correspondence with his own kingdom. His advisers were both responsible and compassionate, so he had few complaints. Still, he would've preferred being near his people should any emergency happen.

It was a pleasant and warm morning when Natalya went into labor. A day later, their son was born. Despite her exhaustion, Natalya beamed at the screaming boy, cooing him gently through her tears. She was reluctant to let Ivan hold him, oddly enough, but remembering her place, she relented. Ivan was in a similar state as she had been, cradling the fragile babe with care.

At his christening a few days later, Ivan Ivanovich made his debut. His father was still not taken with the name, but Natalya was adamant about the choice. Natalya took to her motherly role fantastically. In fact, she never left the young Ivan's side, even choosing to sleep in the hastily-made nursery rather than with her husband. Ivan senior hardly minded, as it gave him more time to read and write, as he'd been assigned the task of replying to the many written complaints.

Two weeks after Ivan's birth, the new father was disturbed just before sleepfulness took him by a knock on the door. With a groan, he rolled out of bed to answer it, making a mental note to have the guard punished for allowing him to be disturbed.

He was surprised to see Alfred dressed plainly and with a huge grin on his face.

"Alfred," he breathed. "What are you doing here?" He supposed more likely than not, he was there for what he usually wanted, and Ivan found himself not wanting to even touch the other man. He'd been having strange feelings lately, or rather a lack of feelings, whenever he saw the American. Still, he couldn't help the blush that came to his cheeks when Alfred grabbed his hand and dragged him into the hallway. Thanking the universe that he was adequately clothed and that there seemed to be no one around the castle, he followed after the chittering blond. They entered another wing of the palace, where he knew the other advisers were staying. As expected, Alfred opened the door to his bedroom and led Ivan inside. They were not alone, however, as Lien was sitting in a large chair, with a plush blanket covering her legs. In her arms were two, tiny babies.

Alfred was at his wife's side in seconds, picking up the infants with practiced ease. "Meet Eve and Abigail," he smiled. He glowed with pride, looking up at Ivan as if seeking approval. For the first time, Ivan saw in Alfred's eyes an unequivocal love, an easy joy that radiated from the blue depths. Ivan's heart rate increased, but he knew it was foolish. Such emotions weren't for him—he knew Alfred would never feel for him.

Alfred frowned. "Are you okay, Ivan?" he asked.

Ivan shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Of course. I'm fine. They are lovely. I apologize, I am not very familiar with your culture's names. Are they both girls?"

"Yes," he nuzzled their noses and they sniffed in their sleep. "I wanted names that reminded me of home."

"I see. Are they well?" he asked. He didn't mean to offend, but the babies were rather small.

"Well enough, we think. Eve had some minor complications pretty early on, but the doctor's think she'll be fine. Abigail is great, though seems hard of hearing. Lien said she was the same way when she was born, so it's possible she'll be completely deaf." Despite the sad news, he seemed taken with the girls. "I never thought I'd be so happy with them, you know? It's surprising."

"Is Lien well?"

"She's great," his goofy grin remained. "Gods, I can't stop smiling. How is Ivan?"

"Me or the baby?"

"Both, of course."

He shrugged. "Natalya is a good mother. I do wish I could spend more time with him, but I'm very busy."

"Of course, I understand. I've had to take some time away from the Father to, well, be a father," he chuckled.

"How is that going, by the way?"

"Oh, just fine. He's stubborn, but seeing the error of his ways."

"I hope you aren't being too violent."

"We haven't touched a hair on his head. Kiku is very talented with words."

"Why is your presence necessary, then?"

"I have to learn how to mimic the rhetoric, you know, and how to better defend it. You could always join us. He's a wise man, you could probably learn a thing or two from him."

"I'd prefer to remember my favorite Patriarch with his dignity intact. I hardly believe that you two aren't harming him given your past habits."

Alfred pouted. "That's not fair. I'm just doing my job."

"That doesn't justify immoral actions!"

Alfred looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke. "Do you remember when you would come to the Pits?"

"Of course."

"Every week you came back you asked more and more questions. Do you remember what you were so curious about?"

"About you, if I remember correctly, and the other slaves. I realize now that we're all the same."

"So would you agree that slavery is wrong?"

He sighed. "It is a very complicated matter. I rarely subscribe to anything the church says, honestly. From my own moralistic standpoint, however, I would say it is wrong. But, the current social structure that is in place is not ready to support so many free citizens. A civil war would break out as workers protest losing slave labor. It would take decades to do things peacefully."

"You are so set on peace," Alfred remarked.

"There's nothing wrong with that. We are fathers, now. I don't want Ivan growing up in a period of bloodshed."

"Perhaps you have a point. Well, anyway. I was wondering. Would you like to spend the night, maybe?"

Ivan shook his head. "I shouldn't. And I'm rather tired. I have to be up early."

"Oh… alright," Alfred frowned. Sighing, Ivan brought him close for a chaste kiss.

"Another night, maybe?" he suggested.

Alfred shrugged. "Just let me know. I'll always be ready." With a nod, Ivan left. Alfred smiled at his children, kissing both on their foreheads. "Did you hear that, Abby?" Even if Lien could hear him, she wouldn't understand his English. "Ivan's falling out of love with us, it seems. Silly man, he's not as stupid as he used to be. And you, Eve, my precious little sunspot," he cooed. "You two will help me win the oaf back to my side, won't you? My adorable little babies. Oh, it's a shame Ivan's forced my hand in this way. You really are just so cute."

He heard Lien shuffle toward the bed. Smiling at her, he walked to her side and let her kiss the babies goodnight. While she settled in, he took the kids to the shared crib.

As usual, he laid down beside his wife, pulling her close to him to share in her warmth. Mere minutes later, one of the girls started bawling. Since the second didn't start up, he assumed it was Eve, as Abigail wasn't able to hear her sister's cries and share in them. With a sigh, he removed his arm from Lien to check on them. Sure enough, Eve was responsible for the disturbance. He smiled and brought her to his chest, rubbing her back lightly. After a few minutes she was contented, breathing softly. He placed her back down and stood over the crib. Pressing his hand over her mouth and squeezing her nose, he held firm while she squirmed slightly. Of course, she did not have the strength, either physical or mental, to fight or to even realize what was happening. Eyes scrunched up, she breathed her last. Beside her, her sister slept on, oblivious.

The next morning, the west wing woke to Lien's screams. Alfred leapt from his bed immediately, rushing to his wife's side. There in her arms was their limp, dead daughter. Lien was disconsolate, clinging to her dead child and rocking back and forth. No one could get her to unhand the child, not even Alfred who was busy taking care of a wailing Abigail.

Hours later, the baby and the exhausted mother were finally separated, and funeral preparations were made. Instead of turning to her other daughter, Lien grew spiteful toward Abigail. That was an unintended consequence, but Alfred was sure he could use it to his advantage. That night, he left Abigail alone in the crib while Lien slept in order to seek out Ivan.

Through red-rimmed eyes and blubbering tears, he stumbled into the bedroom. Ivan of course had heard of the tragedy and was quick to offer his comfort. Alfred did nothing other than cry and moan while snuggling ever closer to Ivan, and while the situation was regrettable, Ivan felt his heart softening toward the other evermore. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape his love for Alfred, it seemed.

"Ivan," Alfred managed to say though still warbling and weak. "Thank you for seeing me. I didn't think this would hurt so much… Is it wrong of me to wish someone else had died?"

"Of course not, it's only natural," he reassured.

"It should've been me, it's not fair. Or maybe Lien. Oh god, I'm a terrible husband for saying that."

"No," Ivan hushed the other by pressing his face to his chest. "All parents value their children over themselves. It is the way of the world."

"I just wish… I don't know. I never used to get attached, you know. Since I met you, I feel more comfortable with people. With how quickly I got attached to the girls, it's no surprise losing her was so devastating. Though I'm sure if something happened to you I'd be even worse off."

"Really?" Even though the moment was somber, Ivan chose to dig into the compliment more. "You'd miss me, then?"

"Of course. You should know by now that I'm miserable without you. Every day I'm just waiting for us to be together. I thought… it's just foolish. I thought that you would grow to love Abby and Eve, then one day when you were emperor we could… be a family, maybe. I know it's silly, since you have Natalya and I have Lien and you'd have the whole kingdom. I haven't met little Ivan yet, but I'd hope to grow to love him as I have you—"

"You… you love me?" Ivan asked, breathless. Alfred chuckled, nuzzling his face closer.

"It's weird. I've felt this way for a long time. But, until I saw Abby and Eve, I didn't quite _get it_ , you know? But then, I did, and I realized that yes." His eyes met Ivan's. "I love you, Ivan. I want to be with you, forever. I want to raise a family with you and support you in any way I can."

"Oh, Alfred," Ivan couldn't help himself. He knew the other man was mourning, he knew his wife was only a few rooms away. And yet, when he found himself hovering over Alfred's naked body minutes later, he could feel no remorse. He could only feel love, and he knew Alfred could feel it too as they joined together in bliss.

Alfred stayed for a few hours, and they talked rather than sleep. They talked of the future, of Ivan's rule, of a world without slaves. Alfred spoke of his dreams to visit America sometime, to show Ivan the mountains and the rivers he lived near, to bring Abby to Rhoda's grave and teach her of the strong woman. They mused of a wedding, of children, of coronations and celebrations that could never happen in their world, but they ignored all logic for just a few hours.

When Natalya walked in, she too chose to remain blissfully ignorant and thus ignored their embrace, which Ivan found out of character. She nodded a greeting to Alfred and handed Ivan his son before leaving for breakfast with Yekaterina.

Alfred was quick to take the baby in his arms, and fresh tears sprouted up. The younger Ivan seemed taken with the blond, never crying or wriggling too much while Alfred held him. As Ivan left bed to dress for the day, Alfred insisted on dancing around the room with the giggling infant. It was this endearing sight that a well-dressed Ivan stumbled upon as he returned from his bath, Alfred making funny faces at his child who gurgled happily.

Such a domestic scene was probably not likely in their future, the king knew, and so he chose to take in the moment, as short as it was, fully. When Alfred noticed him and grinned, waving Ivan's pudgy arm, the elder Ivan took the few remaining steps to crush Alfred in a hug, careful not to upset the baby.

They stood in contented silence for what seemed like an eternity, though was truthfully only a few minutes. Their reverie was broken by a clamor outside the door, and before they could part, Toris burst into the room. He didn't seem shocked by the couple, as he was there for Alfred.

"Lord Jones!" his breathing was labored, he'd clearly run a ways. "There's been an accident! You must come quickly!"

"What is it?" he asked, handing Ivan over to his father. "What's happened?"

"It's Lien. Please, the doctor will explain it better." Toris left the doorway to give them a moment of privacy, but Alfred hardly needed it. He looked to Ivan who only nodded, and the pair took off after the messenger.

A few minutes later, they were in Alfred's room. Lien was out cold on the bed, though her clothes were torn and her face and hair were a mess. A man was holding Abby in his arms, and the baby was swaddled not in her usual clothes, but bandages. Alfred wasn't sure whose side he should go to, but Abby won out. The doctor handed her to him, instructing him to be particularly careful.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

"Lien tried to kill your child last night. She shook the child violently and hit her head a few times. Her body is littered with bruises, but internal bleeding seems to be minimal. Her head is wrapped as she was losing a lot of blood. I'm afraid for the worst, however."

"And what of Lien?"

"She seemed to have a moment of clarity and regretted what she did. She called for help immediately, and a nearby maid came running for me. However, by the time I got here, she was tearing at her clothes and hair. She cut herself up pretty badly using shards from a broken mirror. Until we're sure of her mental state, she'll be bound when she awakes. Based on the few words we could get out of her, she held resentment for her surviving child. Since Abigail is deaf, she said it would've been better had Eve stayed alive. She was asking for you, I think, but by then the medicine kicked in and she fell asleep."

"I see. Thank you, doctor."

"I'm sorry, my lord. There's nothing more we can do for Abigail for now."

"I understand. I'll just stay here with her, then."

"Of course," the doctor bowed and left, his nurses following behind him.

Alfred's tears had ceased and he could only stare at his daughter.

"Alfred…" Ivan began, though he didn't know what he could even say.

"It's fine. I'm fine. This is just… Oh god, you're the only good thing that's happened to me that I haven't lost, and all I do is push you away! I'm so sorry Ivan, I'm just horrible. You should leave too before something bad happens to you."

"It's not your fault, Alfred. You couldn't have known that Lien would do this. And I would never leave you for good, you know that."

Ivan was right, Alfred thought. It had been an unexpected development. He hadn't planned on losing Abby until years later, perhaps, depending on how Ivan was feeling towards him. He sighed. "I know. Look, I think I want to be alone with Abby for a while. Do you mind?"

Ivan shook his head. "I'll make sure no one disturbs you. Will you be fine with Lien in the room?"

"I won't hurt her, if that's what you think. I'll look after her if she wakes up."

"Alright," Ivan kissed Alfred's forehead then left. As soon as the door shut, Alfred dumped Abby into her crib, no longer wishing to be close to the crippled girl. Instead, he lay next to his wife and stroked her cheek. She shifted in her sleep, but she was still unconscious.

He laughed, he laughed at her idiocy, he laughed at Ivan's affection, he laughed at the world.

He laughed at himself, at how stupid he was. He laughed at his illogical attachment to the girls, and of the truth that hid behind his many lies—some of them weren't even lies any more. When he ran out of laughs, he cried, and it was then that Lien woke up. She too started crying, and she desperately tried to reach out to Alfred, wailing her apologies. He merely shushed her and smiled, brushing her hair aside and stroking her bound arms. When she wore herself out enough to be relatively calm, he brought Abby to her side. The woman cried, and refused to look at the baby. Alfred forced her by grabbing her chin roughly. As she looked on, he closed a fist around Abby's throat, cutting off her supply of oxygen. Her body was already so covered in bruises on her neck that those he left were undetectable.

He spoke slowly so Lien could understand, and she only nodded. Happy that her husband forgave her and was kind enough to remove her restraints, she promptly lathered his face with grateful kisses. He chuckled and pulled away, as he had to deal with another funeral arrangement.

The next day was somber as the couple buried their two infants. Ivan was there in solidarity, though other than a kind smile, Alfred didn't say a word after the ceremony. Lien was beside herself—Alfred was impressed with her acting talent—but she was not to be punished by the law. She wasn't the first noble to kill a handicapped child, after all. Alfred was back at work the next day, and Lien was in the courts with the other women, hardly seeming worse for wear. While Alfred was a bit less talkative, he didn't falter in his planning during the meeting, and left with Kiku to deal with the prisoner as usual.

Still, every night he would come to Ivan's room and Ivan would comfort him however he wanted, sometimes physically, sometimes with words. For a time it was like they were back in Petrograd, waking up together and sharing stolen moments, though they were often interrupted by Natalya leaving them with Ivan while she went to chat with someone. For a time, they lived like a true couple, neither acknowledging the fact that Alfred would leave on his mission soon.

When Alfred vanished, no one was expecting it. He wasn't scheduled to leave for another week, and even then he was still to split time between the palace and the Rebels. In addition, their prisoner was missing, and the counselors grew suspicious and fearful. Most knew of Ivan's relationship to Alfred, as it was a poorly kept secret, but even he had no idea what was going on. They thought to interrogate Lien, but she seemed just as ignorant. Up until the day she herself fled, they lived with a reserved panic. However, talks of the Rebel army growing in numbers with the help of a new, charismatic leader made them solidify their defenses. Alfred was not acting according to plan—not according to their plan, at least.

Seven months after Ivan was born, the Rebels stormed the Kremlin.


End file.
